LIBRARY    j 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO      j 


ROUND  MY  HOUSE 

NOTES  OF  RURAL  LIFE   IN  FRANCE 
IN  PEACE  AND  WAR 


BY 

PHILIP   GILBERT   HAMERTON 

s/ 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THE  INTELLECTUAL  LIFE,"   "  A  PAINTER'S  CAMP,"  "  THE  SYLVAN 
YBAB."  STC. 


Quid  poles  alibi  videre,  quod  hie  non  vides?    Ecce  coelum,  et  terra,  et  omnia  element  a  ; 
nam  ex  istis  omnia  sunt  facta, — De  Imitation*,  Lib.  L  Cap.  XX. 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 
1882. 


PREFACE. 


THERE  are  two  kinds  of  books  about  foreign  countries, 
those  written  by  passing  travellers  and  those  written  by 
fixed  residents.  Each  of  the  two  kinds  has  its  peculiar 
merits,  and  neither  of  the  two  can  escape  its  peculiar 
defects.  This  book  is  of  the  latter  species.  The  fixed 
resident  is  certainly  the  person  who  ought  to  write 
about  a  foreign  country,  because,  unless  he  be  singularly 
unobservant,  he  will  know  much  more  about  it  than  the 
passing  traveller,  and  yet  there  are  peculiar  difficulties 
in  his  case.  Habit,  in  course  of  time,  makes  things 
seem  matters  of  course  to  him  which  would  strike  the 
passing  tourist  as  interesting  from  their  strangeness  or 
delightful  for  their  beauty.  Every  one  knows  that  in 
course  of  time  we  all  positively  cease  to  see  the  pictures 
and  furniture  in  the  room  which  we  constantly  inhabit, 
so  that  a  stranger  will  have  a  far  livelier  sense  of  theii 
merits  and  defects  than  we  can  possibly  have.  This  is 
the  great  obstacle  to  writing  about  what  we  see  con- 
tinually— the  freshness  of  the  eye  is  wanting,  it  is  gone 
for  ever,  and  cannot  be  recovered.  It  is  perhaps  for 
this  reason  that  almost  all  the  books  which  are  written 
on  other  countries  are  the  result  of,  at  most,  a  short 


vi  Preface. 

residence.  After  a  few  months  in  a  place  we  write 
about  it,  after  many  years  we  feel  a  disinclination  to 
wr'te,  because  we  know  it  too  well,  and  yet  feel  that  we 
ought  to  know  much  more  before  publishing  results  and 
conclusions.  In  many  cases  there  are  also  reasons  of 
delicacy  for  not  publishing  what  concerns  the  manners 
and  customs  of  a  place  that  one  har.  lived  in.  Ever}' 
author  is  aware  that  people  have  a  passion  for  recog- 
nizing themselves  and  their  neighbours  in  print,  a  pas- 
sion which  goes  to  the  most  astonishing  lengths,  for 
people  will  select  some  character  as  unlike  themselves 
as  possible,  and  then  complain  of  the  unfaithfulness  of 
the  portrait.  The  author  of  the  present  volume,  like 
everybody  who  has  written  a  novel,  has  had  some 
experience  of  this.  The  one  occupation  of  all  his  friends 
and  acquaintances  appeared  to  be  the  recognition  of  his 
characters  as  portraits,  and  the  same  character  in  the 
novel  was  detected  by  the  cleverness  of  several  different 
correspondents  as  a  likeness  of  several  different  origi- 
nals. Some  correspondents  even  went  so  far  as  to 
recognize  themselves  in  the  literary  picture,  to  acknow- 
ledge that  the  satire  was  deserved,  and  promise  amend- 
ment, although  the  author  had  not  once  thought  about 
them  during  the  composition  of  his  work.*  Now,  if 

*  I  am  not  sorry  to  take  this  opportunity  of  observing  that  this 
habit  of  readers  is  based  upon  a  completely  erroneous  conception 
of  an  author's  mental  processes.  It  is  quite  true  that  most  ficti- 
tious characters  have  been  suggested,  in  some  remote  way,  to  begin 
with,  by  a  living  person,  but  no  author  with  the  least  imagination 
stops  at  portraiture.  His  imagination  plays  with  the  first  sugges- 
tion and  develops  from  it  something  entirely  different.  It  is 
narrated  of  a  certain  painter,  celebrated  for  the  beauty  of  his 
Madonnas,  that  he  had  no  other  model  for  them  than  a  wrinkled 


Preface.  vii 

people  seek  and  find  portraits  of  themselves  and  their 
neighbours  in  novels,  how  much  more  ready  will  they 
not  be  to  discover  such  portraits  in  an  avowed  descrip- 
tion of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  particular 
locality  in  which  they  live !  The  author,  it  is  true, 
might  have  recourse  to  certain  artifices,  not  affecting 
the  substantial  truth  of  his  descriptions  in  matters 
which  it  concerned  his  readers  to  know,  and  yet  shield- 
ing individuals.  He  might,  for  example,  allowably 
describe  a  man  so  as  to  put  his  neighbours  on  a  wrong 
scent,  by  making  the  fictitious  person  live  in  a  new 
house  when  the  real  person  lived  in  an  old  one,  or  by 
giving  him  red  hair  when  nature  had  given  him  black. 
Still,  however  skilfully  this  might  be  done,  it  would  be 
better  not  to  excite  popular  curiosity  about  people 
whose  privacy  ought  to  be  respected.  This  considera- 
tion would  of  itself  make  a  writer  hesitate,  in  certain 
circumstances,  before  publishing  a  book  in  which  there 
is  so  much  painting  from  nature  as  there  is  in  the 
present  volume.  It  would  be  wrong  in  a  Frenchman  to 
publish  a  work  of  this  kind  about  an  English  neigh- 
bourhood, because  his  book  would  be  read  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood itself,  where  people  would  recognize,  or  fancy 
that  they  recognized,  the  originals  of  his  descriptions. 
When  M.  Taine  wrote  his  "  Notes  on  England  "  he  had 
this  inconvenience  continually  in  view.  But  we  may  use 
much  greater  freedom  in  describing  a  French  neighbour- 
hood where  there  are  no  English  residents,  wh<wi  the 

old  man-servant.  This  is  a  very  perfect  instance  of  the  working 
of  imagination.  It  needs  some  suggestions  from  the  world  of 
reality,  but  a  very  remote  suggestion  is  enough. 


viii  Preface. 

book  is  addressed  to  English  and  American  readers 
only.  France  is  very  near  to  England,  but  England  is 
as  remote  from  France  as  some  province  in  the  heart  of 
China.  A  book  written  in  Chinese,  or  in  Egyptian 
hieroglyphics,  or  in  Babylonian  cuneiform  characters, 
would  have  quite  as  good  a  chance  of  being  read  in 
this  country  "  round  my  house  "  as  a  book  written  in 
English.  It  is,  therefore,  impossible  that  any  persons* 
alluded  to  in  the  volume  should  be  identified  by  any 
one.  The  English  reader  cannot  identify  them  because 
the  originals  are  unknown  to  him,  and  those  who  know 
the  persons  are  ignorant  of  the  language  in  which  they 
are  more  or  less  accurately  portrayed.  It  is  as  if  an 
English  neighbourhood  were  to  be  described  in  Chinese, 
with  the  right  of  translation  reserved.  The  Chinese 
author  might  go  into  detail  without  hurting  anybody's 
feelings. 

These  observations  have  appeared  necessary  because 
so  few  English  readers  are  likely  to  realize  the  wonder- 
ful remoteness  of  England  from  rural  France,  and  some 
might  be  disposed  to  accuse  me  of  a  want  of  delicacy, 
when  in  reality  I  have  been  at  great  pains  so  to  manage 
matters  that  no  private  person  alluded  to  will  ever  be 
identified,  whilst  if  such  identification  were  possible,  the 
worst  consequence  of  it  would  be  to  reveal  some  fact 
which  everybody  knows,  as,  for  example,  that  such  a 
gentleman's  establishment  consists  of  one  woman-ser- 
vant and  two  men,  or  that  ctije&ner  is  his  principal 

*  Except  the  bishop,  but  it  so  happens  that  I  was  able  to  paint 
him  as  he  is  and  yet  observe  the  rule  of  nil  nisi  bonum  without 
ever  thinking  about  it. 


Preface.  ix 

repast.  The  general  impression  which  the  book  will 
produce  in  England  and  America  will  be  favourable  to 
my  French  neighbours,  who,  whatever  may  be  their 
faults,  have  qualities  which  will  bear  to  be  painted 
truthfully.  I  offer  it  as  a  small  contribution  to  what 
ought  to  be  the  great  work  of  international  writers  in 
our  time,  namely,  the  work  of  making  different  nations 
understand  each  other  better. 

It  was  originally  intended  that  this  volume  should  be 
illustrated  by  the  author,  but  as  a  set  of  etchings  would 
have  greatly  increased  the  price,  and  as,  after  many 
experiments,  I  remained  dissatisfied  with  the  processes 
which  produce  blocks  to  be  printed  cheaply,  the  idea  of 
illustrating  was  at  last  abandoned.  It  is  likely  that  the 
purchaser  of  the  book  has  lost  very  little  by  this  de- 
cision, but  as  it  happened  that  my  American  publishers 
announced  it  some  time  ago  as  "  illustrated,"  I  thought 
something  ought  to  be  done  to  compensate  my  Ameri- 
can friends  for  whatever  little  disappointment  they 
might  feel  when  the  text  reached  them  without  any 
graphic  accompaniment.  I  have,  therefore,  given  them 
fifty  or  sixty  more  pages  of  text  than  the  quantity 
originally  intended.  There  is,  I  think,  nothing  to  regret 
in  this  arrangement,  for  the  book  does  not  need  illus- 
tration, and  the  sketches  of  a  landscape-painter  could 
have  added  but  little  interest  to  its  pages. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

FAGB 

A  TOUR  IN  SEARCH  OF  A  HOUSE i 


CHAPTER   II. 
THE  TOUR  CONTINUED 23 

CHAPTER   III. 
THE  HOUSE  is  FOUND 44 

CHAPTER  IV. 
COUNTRY  SOCIETY  IN  FRANCE 63 

CHAPTER  V. 
THE  RURAL  NOBILITY 81 

CHAPTER  VI. 
ALL  ABOUT  MONEY  MATTERS 07 

CHAPTER  VII. 

MANNERS  AND  CUSTOMS  OF  THE  RURALS  .  116 


xii  Contents. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

PAGH 

HOUSEHOLDS  AND  SERVANTS •.    .    .    .    141 


CHAPTER   IX. 
LIFE  IN  A  LITTLE  FRENCH  TOWN 162 

CHAPTER  X. 
FRENCH  POLITICAL  PARTIES .182 

CHAPTER  XL 
THE  PEASANT- WORLD 209 

CHAPTER  XII. 
DETAILS  OF  PEAS  ANT- LIFE 242 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
CHURCH  AND  UNIVERSITY 286 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
THE  FRENCH  CLERGY 321 

CHAPTER  XV. 
COURTSHIP  AND  MARRIAGE 34, 

CHAPTER   XVI. 
FROM  PEACE  TO  WAR 370 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
FROM  WAR  TO  PEACE 396 


ROUND    MY    HOUSE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  tour  in  search  of  a  house — Requirements  for  the  picturesque 
and  for  convenience — Places  not  good  to  live  in  permanently 
— The  French  maison  de  campagne — Provence — The  Rhone 
— Tournon  and  Tain — A  dirty  hotel — A  wonderful  maison 
de  campagne — Vienne — Macon — Snugness  and  openness  in 
landscape — Character  of  scenery  at  Macon — A  neat  and  tidy 
French  house — Town  dwellings — Dismal  places — The  Saone 
— Voyage  in  a  steamer — Abrupt  termination  of  the  voyage — 
The  Saone  near  Lyons — Collonges  and  Fontaines — Costume 
of  the  women  of  La  Bresse. 

IT  happened  a  good  many  years  ago  that  my  wife  and 
I  set  off  on  a  tour  in  search  of  a  house.  I  wanted  a 
fine  climate,  or  at  least  a  climate  in  which  I  could  count 
upon  fine  summers,  and  scenery  interesting  enough, 
and  sufficiently  varied,  for  a  landscape-painter  to  work 
happily  in  it  without  going  very  far  from  his  own  home. 
My  wife,  on  her  part,  though  quite  willing  to  let  me 
have  my  way  in  the  choice  of  climate  and  scenery, 
had  also  requirements  of  her  own  with  regard  to  house- 
keeping. We  had  lived  together  in  a  very  beautiful 
but  very  out-of-the-way  place  in  the  Highlands  of 

B 


House-keeping  Difficulties. 


Scotland,  where  we  were  literally  twelve  miles  from  a 
lemon,  and  forty  from  the  nearest  hairdresser  ;  whilst 
at  certain  seasons  of  the  year  there  was  not  (in  activity 
at  least)  such  a  functionary  as  a  butcher  in  the  whole 
county.  Here  we  had  learned  the  lesson,  which  nobody 
ever  does  learn  except  from  actual  experience,  that 
a  too  distant  retirement  from  the  conveniences  of 
civilized  life,  far  from  being  favourable  to  projects  of 
economy  (as  the  inhabitants  of  large  towns  sometimes 
imagine),  is  on  the  contrary  a  cause  of  incessant  expen- 
diture, as  unsatisfactory  as  it  is  unavoidable,  unless, 
indeed,  you  choose  to  submit  to  the  privations  of  a 
Highland  shepherd,  and  live  upon  oatmeal  and 
diseased  meat.  I  was  the  more  willing  to  conform  to 
my  wife's  house-keeping  requirements,  that  I  had 
observed  for  my  own  part  how  a  life  far  from  conve- 
niences invades  and  breaks  up  the  time  of  the  master 
of  the  house,  how  he  has  always  to  be  looking  after 
details  which  a  lady  can  scarcely  attend  to,  and  has  to 
sacrifice  time  in  frequent  journeys  to  the  distant  town, 
all  which  may  be  rather  pleasant  than  otherwise  for 
men  who  are  without  occupation,  but  is  vexatious  in 
the  extreme  to  the  artist  or  homme  de  lettres.  In  a 
word,  the  sort  of  life  which  we  were  determined  to 
avoid  was  what  may  be  called  the  colonial — that  life 
which  is  led  in  its  full  perfection  by  the  holder  of  a 
sheep-run  in  New  Zealand.  On  the  other  hand,  I  had 
never  been  able  to  share  the  spirit  of  resignation  with 
which  so  many  landscape-painters  submit  to  pass  their 
days  in  the  streets  of  cities,  without  ever  seeing  a  blue 
or  purple  hill  in  the  distance,  or  having  any  more  direct 


Dominant  Features  of  Scenery, 


impression  of  sunset  splendours  than  what  is  to  be 
gained  by  observing  that  the  chimney-pots  of  the 
opposite  houses  look  somewhat  redder  than  usual. 
Nothing  in  the  lives  of  landscape-painters  whose 
biographies  have  been  written  appears  to  me  more 
pathetic  than  a  sentence  in  that  of  Chintreuil,  when, 
in  his  penniless  student  days,  literally  suffering  from 
hunger,  he  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  if  I  had  but  150  francs  to 
go  and  live  two  months  in  the  real  country  ! "  Yet  not 
all  "  the  country  "  is  suitable  ground  for  a  landscape- 
painter,  and  what  is  rich  in  material  for  one  will  be 
barren  land  for  another.  Neither  is  it  the  place  which 
seems  to  him  the  most  strikingly  beautiful  when  he  is 
travelling  which  will  be  the  best  for  him  to  live  in  year 
after  year.  There  are  so  many  things  to  be  considered 
in  choosing  a  place  for  a  long  residence  !  Some  places 
have  a  strong  dominant  feature  of  a  special  kind,  which 
is  very  interesting  when  the  coach  stops  at  the  way- 
side inn  and  you  have  half  an  hour  to  go  and  look 
about  you,  but  which  would  be  either  indifferent  or 
tiresome  to  a  fixed  resident.  The  valley  of  Chamouni, 
for  example,  would  be  a  very  bad  place  to  choose, 
because  Mont  Blanc  is  far  too  dominant  there ;  you 
cannot  get  out  of  its  way ;  you  must  either  think  of 
hardly  anything  else  in  landscape,  or  else  become 
indifferent  to  landscape  beauty  altogether,  as  the  Alpine 
peasants  are.  There  are  natural  objects  which  interfere 
with  the  individuality  of  a  painter  who  lives  too  near 
them,  and  it  is  as  difficult  to  work  independently  in 
their  presence  as  it  would  be  to  pursue  intellectual 
labours  in  the  continual  presence  of  some  overwhelming 

B   2 


A  House  in  Glen  Coe. 


human  potentate,  such  as  the  Czar  of  Russia,  for 
example.  Another  great  objection  to  a  place  is,  not  to 
be  able  easily  to  get  out  of  it  A  perfect-  country  is 
one  which,  in  a  day's  drive,  or  half  a  day's,  gives  you 
an  entirely  new  horizon,  so  that  you  may  feel  in  a 
different  region  and  have  all  the  refreshment  of  a  total 
change  of  scene  within  a  few  miles  of  your  own  home. 
There  are  very  many  places  in  the  world  where  this  is 
quite  impossible,  some  dominant  characteristic  of  the 
landscape  pursues  you  wherever  you  go,  for  thirty  or 
forty  miles,  and  you  must  undertake  a  serious  journey 
to  get  under  other  influences.  There  is  a  house  in  the 
middle  of  Glen  Coe,  about  equally  distant  from  its  two 
extremities,  which  seems  a  very  undesirable  place  of 
residence,  for  it  is  only  just  possible  to  get  out  of  the 
glen  and  come  back  again  in  the  course  of  a  summer's 
day,  whilst  every  excursion,  in  either  direction,  must  of 
necessity  be  in  the  same  scenery.  So  I  suppose  that  on 
the  plateau  out  of  which  rises  the  great  white  cone  of 
Chimborazo  you  may  travel  for  many  miles,  whilst,  for 
any  variety  of  scenery  that  you  get,  you  might  as  well 
remain  quietly  under  the  shadow  of  one  cactus,  if  a 
cactus  gives  any  shadow. 

It  is  a  very  amusing,  yet  at  the  same  time  a  very 
fatiguing  business,  to  travel  in  search  of  a  house,  espe- 
cially when  you  are  not  tied  down  to  a  limited  extent 
of  country.  We  had  the  whole  of  eastern  France  to 
explore,  south  of  Sens,  and  our  impression  at  first  was 
that  our  only  embarrassment  would  be  in  having  too 
many 'delightful  residences  to  choose  from,  but  we  soon 
perceived  our  error.  The  house  was  to  be  a  maison  de 


The  "  Maison  de  Campagne"  5 

c&mpagne,  and  the  difficulty  of  finding  one  to  suit  our 
tastes  and  purse  at  the  same  time  will  be  better  under- 
stood when  I  have  explained  what  a  maison  de  cam- 
pagne  is. 

The  reader  will  please  observe  that  I  leave  the  words 
in  the  original  tongue,  without  any  attempt  at  transla- 
tion, and  the  reason  for  this  is,  that  a  translation  would 
convey  quite  a  wrong  idea  of  the  habitation  to  be  de- 
scribed. Maison  de  campagne  does  not  mean  "  country 
house,"  nor  anything  like  it.  It  answers  much  more 
to  the  English  shooting  or  fishing  lodge  or  cottage. 
It  generally  belongs  to  somebody  with  a  moderate 
income,  who  lives  habituallyin  a  town,  but  likes  to  have 
a  little  place  in  the  country  on  his  own  estate,  where  he 
may  go  and  spend  a  few  weeks  at  a  time  during  the 
fine  weather,  and  hear  the  thrushes  and  the  nightin- 
gales, whilst  his  children  may  run  about  in  the  fields. 
A  very  well-to-do  Frenchman  told  me  lately,  that  he 
was  going  to  build  a  maison  de  campagne — a  "  chateau," 
as  he  laughingly  called  it — on  the  most  beautiful  site 
on  a  very  beautiful  estate  which  he  inherited  last  year. 
He  has  planned  it  all  himself  in  the  most  original 
manner.  There  is  to  be  a  large  hall  as  the  general 
living-room,  with  cells  and  cupboards  round  it,  and  the 
hall  is  to  open  on  a  terrace  with  a  glorious  view  over  a 
rich  expanse  of  country.  The  dwelling  is  not  to  have 
more  than  one  story.  The  owner  and  deviser  will 
arrange  everything  exactly  according  to  his  own  fancy, 
and  not  at  all  in  obedience  to  any  kind  of  fashion  or 
conventionalism,  so  that  every  time  he  goes  there  he 
may  feel  as  free  from  the  tyranny  of  "  social  pressure  " 


We  avoid  Provence. 


as  Robinson  Crusoe  in  his  castle.  This  is  exactly  the 
Frenchman's  idea  of  the  maison  de  campagne.  He 
thinks  of  it  as  a  place  where  life  is  to  be  rather  rough, 
where  he  is  to  sit  on  cheap  chairs,  or  a  hard  form  per- 
haps, and  sleep  anyhow,  in  a  cupboard  or  on  the  floor, 
or  at  best  in  a  little  cell ;  but  where,  as  a  compensation, 
he  may  wear  any  kind  of  old  clothes,  and  work  in  his 
garden,  or  roam  about  in  his  woods  to  his  heart's  con- 
tent. The  reader  will  at  once  perceive  how  difficult  it 
is  to  find  a  maison  de  campagne  fit  to  live  in  all  the 
year  round  as  one's  principal  or  only  residence.  There 
is,  indeed,  another  class  of  country  house — the  chateau, 
which  is  often  roomy  enough,  though  seldom  particu- 
larly comfortable  ;  but  you  will  not  often  find  a  chateau 
to  let,  and  when  you  do  it  is  likely  to  be  encumbered 
with  land  and  gardens,  which  are  a  source  of  expense 
rather  than  either  pleasure  or  profit.  The  sort  of  house 
we  wanted  did  not  belong  to  either  of  these  categories. 
We  required  more  space,  and  better  arrangements,  than 
are  found  usually  in  the  first,  and  wanted  our  house  to 
be  more  compact  and  less  expensive  than  the  second. 

Our  tour  began  on  the  line  between  Paris  and  the 
Mediterranean.  I  did  not  intend  "to  go  so  far  south  as 
to  get  into  the  dreadfully  long,  arid  summers  of  Pro- 
vence. Avignon,  for  example,  was  too  far  south  for  our 
taste,  though  we  knew  that  neighbourhood  well.  All 
that  Provengal  country  is  delightful  before  the  dry  heat 
sets  in,  and  it  is  a  very  rich  country  for  an  artist, 
especially  if  he  has  a  hearty  appreciation  of  old  build- 
ings, rugged  bits  of  foreground,  and  clear  mountainous 
distances  ;  but  in  summer  it  is  better  to  be  farther 


My  Rhone  Scheme. 


north.  My  first  plan,  therefore,  was  to  choose  some 
locality  south  of  Lyons,  yet  north  of  Montelimart,  in 
the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  some  town  upon  the 
Rhone.  Of  all  the  French  rivers  the  Rhone  is,  at  the 
same  time,  that  which  is  best  worth  illustrating,  and 
that  which  has  been  least  exhausted  by  artists.  It  was 
also  the  river  towards  which  I  felt  the  strongest  per- 
sonal attraction,  which  is  of  the  very  utmost  impor- 
tance for  the  interest  of  artistic  work,  as  no  artist  can 
ever  interest  others  in  subjects  which  do  not  interest 
himself.*  My  artistic  scheme  was,  therefore,  to  have 
easy  access  to  the  whole  of  the  Rhone  scenery,  and  in 
this  I  counted  much  upon  the  assistance  of  the  rail- 
way line  from  Lyons  to  Marseilles,  for  the  railway 
always  keeps  within  a  moderate  distance  of  the  river, 
and  so  gives  access  to  many  points  of  interest,  whilst 
the  interval  between  one  station  and  another,  or  be- 
tween any  station  and  the  river,  could  always  be  easily 
traversed  on  foot,  or  in  the  common  conveyances  of 
the  place.  Another  great  advantage  of  the  railway 
was,  that  if  I  chose  to  descend  the  river  in  a  small 
boat,  the  railway  would  take  charge  of  it  on  my 
return.  Besides  this,  an  artist  living  close  to  the 
Rhone  would  have  the  advantage  of  the  Rhone 

*  Amongst  the  innumerable  doctrines  about  what  artists  ought 
to  do  which  are  doubtful  and  uncertain  (their  uncertainty  being 
proved  by  the  success  of  artists  who  disobey  them),  a  few  appear 
to  be  confirmed  by  the  general  experience,  and  this  is  one  of  them. 
An  interesting  picture  is  always  a  picture  of  something  which  the 
artist  has  either  passionately  loved  or  at  least  cared  about  in 
earnest.  But  it  is  not  by  any  means  so  sure  that  the  converse  is 
also  true.  The  strongest  affection  for  a  place  will  not  enable  us 
to  T  aint  it  in  an  interesting  manner. 


8  My  Rhone  Scheme. 

steamers,  which  would   stop   and   land  him   anywhere 
at  his  convenience. 

If  the  reader  will  kindly  enter  into  this  project  from 
the  artistic  point  of  view,  he  will  at  once  perceive  how 
much  was  involved  in  it.  A  landscape-painter  may  be 
said — in  a  peculiar  sense,  of  course,  yet  to  him  at  least 
in  a  very  real  and  intelligible  sense — to  possess  the  land 
he  lives  in,  so  far,  at  least,  as  he  can  appreciate  its 
beauty  ;  just  as  a  student  who  lives  near  a  public  library 
possesses  the  library,  or  at  least  so  much  of  it  as  he 
can  use  and  understand.  And  the  longer  I  live,  the 
more  profoundly  am  I  convinced  that  this  kind  of  pos 
session  is  the  truest  and  most  satisfying  kind  of  owner- 
ship ;  nay,  even  that  it  is  the  only  ownership,  which 
being  infinite  in  its  nature,  is  adequate  to  our  infinite 
desires.  To  me,  a  house  by  the  Rhone,  near  a  railway 
and  steamboat  station,  meant  the  possession  of  the 
Rhone  itself,  with  all  its  crags,  and  castles,  and  pic- 
turesque old  cities,  and  those  leagues  of  lovely  or  noble 
landscape  which  lie  between  one  city  and  another. 

If  the  reader  will  glance  at  a  map  of  that  part  of  the 
country  through  which  the  Rhone  flows,  he  will  find 
that,  for  part  of  its  long  journey,  it  passes  between  the 
departments  of  the  Ardeche  and  the  Drome.  The 
railway  follows  it  all  along,  on  the  left  bank,  and  from 
this  great  main  line  there  are  now  two  lines  to 
Grenoble,  one  from  St.  Rambert,  and  the  other  from 
the  Isere,  both  in  the  department  of  the  Drome. 
Between  these  two  branches,  and  about  fourteen  miles 
north  of  Valence,  there  are  two  little  towns  exactly 
opposite  each  other,  with  the  Rhone  flowing  between 


Tournon  and  Tain. 


them  ;  that  in  the  Ardeche  is  Tournon,  that  in  the 
Drdme  is  Tain.  Now  it  seemed  to  me  that  to  live 
somewhere  very  near  there,  would  be  in  the  highest 
degree  favourable  to  certain  artistic  projects,  for  I 
should,  at  the  same  time,  be  close  to  one  of  the  noblest 
and  most  interesting  rivers  in  Europe,  and  have  easy 
access  to  the  most  magnificent  mountain  scenery,  by 
the  help  of  those  lines  of  railway. 

So  the  first  place  we  went  to  was  Tain  ;  that,  at  least, 
was  the  station,  but  we  went  to  the  hotel  at  Tournon, 
and  that  hotel  must  be  mentioned  here  because  it  had 
a  very  important  influence  on  our  destiny.  If  that 
hotel  had  been  clean,  we  should  have  stayed  there 
patiently  and  explored  the  country  in  every  direction, 
the  end  of  which  exploration  might  possibly  have  been 
the  discovery  of  some  suitable  dwelling  ;  but  the  hotel 
was  not  clean — indeed  it  was  so  exceptionally  dirty, 
that  it  required  great  courage  to  stay  in  it  a  single 
night.  What  floors  !  what  walls  !  what  a  staircase  \ 
and  what  servants !  There  was  space  enough,  the 
house  was  not  badly  built,  there  was  no  especial  diffi- 
culty about  being  clean,  and  as  for  water,  the  Rhone 
flowed  swiftly  by ;  but  the  place  was  given  over  to 
uncleanliness,  as  if  it  were  a  foretaste  of  Italy  or  Spain. 
It  is  scarcely  too  much  to  say  that  the  floors  inside 
the  house  were  like  the  flags  in  a  Manchester  street 
when  a  fog  has  saturated  the  soot ;  the  walls  had  not 
been  papered,  nor  the  paint  washed  for  years,  and  the 
women  were  in  a  state  not  to  be  described  without  an 
intolerable  realism.  There  was  one  apron  especially — 
but  let  me  refrain !  It  is  many  years  since  then,  and 


IO  A  House  by  the  Rhone. 

that  apron  is  now  purified.  It  has  passed  into  a  higher 
state  of  existence  ;  it  has  become  paper,  perhaps  the 
whitest  and  smoothest  of  papers  in  some  rich  man's 
library,  in  an  Edition  de  luxe. 

Just  opposite  Tournon  rises  the  world-famous  hill  of 
the  Hermitage,  where  the  noble  wine  is  grown.  As 
every  inch  of  the  ground  is  of  almost  fabulous  value, 
the  hill-side,  which  is  very  steep,  has  long  been  arti- 
ficially cut  into  terraces  supported  by  wallsj  which  spoil 
its  beauty  entirely.  Behind  Tournon,  the  road  leads 
up  a  hill  ;  we  followed  it  from  curiosity,  and  soon  came 
upon  a  magnificent  view  of  the  course  of  the  Rhone 
and  the  snowy  Alps  of  Dauphine.  That  was  a  sight 
to  compensate  for  the  ugliness  of  the  vineyards  by  the 
river.  But  there  was  no  house  up  there,  and  if  there 
had  been  one,  the  situation  would  have  been  particu- 
larly inconvenient.  After  much  seeking,  we  discovered 
at  length  a  genuine  "  maison  de  campagne  "  on  the  left 
bank  of  the  Rhone,  and  a  wonderful  little  building  it  was. 
How  miserable  it  looked  !  It  had  the  honour,  indeed, 
of  being  a  detached  residence,  but  this  only  made  it 
look  the  more  wretched  as  it  stood  alone  in  its  desola- 
tion and  its  nakedness.  It  was  all  out  of  repair,  and 
not  a  door  nor  a  shutter  fitted.  I  rather  think  there 
was  a  pepper-box  turret,  which  made  the  owner  call  it 
a  chateau,  and  ask  an  absurd  rent ;  but  the  fact  is  that 
all  the  rooms  were  so  small  that  the  whole  mansion 
together  would  have  gone  into  a  good-sized  studio. 
Then  we  saw  reason  to  suspect  that,  during  the  inun- 
dations which  display  so  much  energy  on  the  shores  of 
the  Rhone,  the  lower  rooms  had  the  advantage  of  being 


Dirty  Hotels.  II 

under  water ;  and  we  observed  also  that  m  the  heat  of 
summer,  which  in  those  parts  is  sufficiently  intense,  the 
inhabitant  of  the  mansion  had  not  a  tree  big  enough 
to  shelter  him,  but  would  have  to  set  up  an  awning, 
or  a  big  umbrella,  like  a  negro  king.  In  spring  he 
would  be  disquieted  by  his  neighbour  the  Rhone  ;  and 
in  summer  he  would  dwell  in  the  full  glare  of  a 
southern  sun  in  a  desert  of  burning  sand.  The  mere 
idea  of  living  in  such  a  place  brought  on  feelings  of 
depression  which  made  the  whole  neighbourhood  seem 
dreary  to  us,  and  we  were  in  such  great  haste  to  get  out 
of  the  dirty  hotel  that  we  were  rather  glad  not  to  have 
found  a  dwelling-place.  We  received  an  impression 
that  we  were  too  far  south  for  cleanliness  ;  and  this  was 
confirmed  by  another  remarkably  unpleasant  hotel  at 
Vienne,  where  the  rooms  were  stifling  and  dark,  and 
looked  out  upon  a  horrible  little  yard.  I  confess  to 
being  excessively  impressionable  by  the  aspect  of 
places — indeed  I  am  so  to  a  degree  which  far  transcends 
the  limits  of  what  is  reasonable.  The  unpleasant 
southern  hotels  really  had  very  little  to  do  with  our 
project  of  residence,  for  we  did  not  intend  to  live  in 
them  ;  yet  they  discouraged  us,  and  put  us  almost  into 
low  spirits.  The  dwellings  which  we  had  examined 
seemed  to  offer  sufficient  accommodation  for  a  bachelor 
with  one  servant  and  a  cat,  but  as  for  lodging  a  family, 
and  finding  room  for  a  library  and  a  studio  besides, 
there  seemed  to  be  no  way  of  accomplishing  it  except 
building.  Still,  when  I  think  of  that  Rhone  project, 
which  seemed  so  magnificently  attractive  when  first 
indulged  in  as  a  dream,  I  am  even  yet  surprised  at  the 


12  We  go  to  Mdcon. 

facility  with  which  it  was  abandoned.  We  had  ex- 
amined very  few  places,  we  had  spent  very  little  time 
in  seeking  along  the  river,  when  we  retreated  north- 
wards, as  fast  as  the  train  would  carry  us,  with  a  sense 
of  relief,  as  if  we  had  escaped  from  danger,  or  at  least 
avoided  committing  an  imprudence. 

There  were  three  departments,  some  distance  to  the 
north  of  Lyons,  in  which  we  felt  much  more  at  home 
than  in  the  Ardeche.  We  had  friends  in  the' Cote  d'Or, 
and  my  wife's  father  had  been  connected  politically 
with  the  departments  of  Saone-et-Loire  and  the 
Doubs,  having  been  a  representative  for  the  first  and 
prefect  of  the  second.  It  does  not  require  very  much 
to  determine  a  preference  amongst  places  one  knows 
very  little  about,  so  this  bygone  political  connection 
gave  us  a  sort  of  reason  for  examining  these  depart- 
ments rather  more  particularly. 

We  began  with  Macon.  Lovers  of  art  will  remember 
it  because  of  Turner's  beautiful  picture  of  the  vintage 
there,  an  admirable  ideal  work,  which  does  not  bear  the 
slightest  resemblance  to  the  place.  Nobody,  however, 
who  knows  how  Turner  worked,  how  he  used  nature 
as  a  suggestion  merely,  and  not  as  an  original  to  be 
copied  in  fac-simile,  will  ever  be  so  far  misguided  as 
to  place  the  least  confidence  in  him  as  a  topographer, 
nor  will  he  ever  feel  disappointed  because  places  are 
not  so  poetical  as  Turner  represented  them  to  be. 

Our  impressions  here  were  more  encouraging  than 
they  had  been  at  Tournon  and  Vienne.  We  had 
spacious  rooms  in  a  rather  large  and  airy  hotel  over- 
looking the  river,  the  servants  were  clean  and  attentive, 


Mont  Blanc  from  Macon.  13 

and  we  felt  ourselves  approaching  more  nearly  to  the 
regions  of  comparative  cleanliness.  Here,  at  any  rate, 
were  space  and  air.  The  broad  Saone  flowed  slowly 
beneath  our  windows,  with  stately  regiments  of  tall 
poplars  on  the  other  side — rather  too  orderly  to  be 
very  entertaining  to  the  eye — and  beyond  the  poplars 
stretched  the  plain  that  goes  to  the  foot  of  the  distant 
mountain  lands  of  Jura  and  Savoy.  The  weather  was 
hazy  during  our  stay  at  Macon,  but  it  added  greatly 
to  the  glory  of  the  rooms  we  occupied  to  believe  the 
lively  landlady  when  she  told  us  that  there  was  a  fine 
view  of  Mont  Blanc  from  those  very  windows.  If  the 
reader  will  only  bring  himself  to  believe  that  Mont 
Blanc  is  visible  from  his  own  window,  he  will  find  that 
this  faith  communicates  a  certain  grandeur  and  dignity 
to  his  room,  which  are  well  worth  having,  however 
illusory.  Years  afterwards  I  found  that  Mont  Blanc, 
under  peculiar  atmospheric  conditions,  was  indeed 
visible  from  Macon,  and  more  impressively  than  from 
nearer  places.  It  is  wonderful  to  see  that  dome  of  rosy 
white  suspended  in  the  sky  like  something  that  is  not 
of  this  earth.  It  seems  as  if  it  were  a  satellite  of  our 
planet,  like  the  moon,  and  one  expects  it  to  rise  higher 
and  higher  as  the  moon  does,  till  it  sails  alone  amongst 
the  stars,  detached  from  everything  terrestrial. 

All  about  Macon  the  country  has  a  certain  largeness 
and  openness  of  aspect,  the  exact  opposite  of  snugness, 
but  very  appreciable  also.  The  reader  will  at  once 
understand  what  I  mean  by  snugness  in  landscape,  but 
T  may  give  an  example  of  this  character  in  Rydal 
Water  a  Grasmere,  where  it  is  to  be  found  in  the 


14  Sham  Architecture. 

fullest  perfection.  The  opposite  character  is  often  very 
admirable  too,  as  at  Macon,  and  from  that  town  south- 
wards along  the  Saone.  Everything  is  large  and  tran- 
quil. The  slopes  of  the  vine-lands  are  vast  in  extent, 
and  gentle  in  declivity,  unlike  the  abrupt  terraces  of 
the  Rhone-side,  where  the  hills  are  cut  into  huge  stairs. 
The  river  is  broad  and  quiet,  spanned  by  a  bridge  of 
twelve  arches.  The  plain  beyond  the  river  is  so  broad 
that  it  seems  to  have  no  limits,  and  when  the  dome  of 
Mont  Blanc  is  visible  it  is  so  remote  that,  instead  of 
setting  limits  to  the  distance,  it  only  makes  it  more 
appreciable.  The  town  is  on  the  sloping  bank  of  the 
river,  and  the  upper  houses  have  wide  panoramic  views. 
One  of  these  was  to  be  let,  and  we  went  over  it.  The 
building  was  tall  and  narrow,  like  a  tower,  with  a 
number  of  sham  windows  painted  on  the  walls,  and  a 
strange  little  stair  going  down  into  the  garden.  Those 
sham  windows  are  a  characteristic  of  the  south,  and 
they  begin  to  prevail  on  the  Sadne.  As  you  go  south- 
wards, you  find  more  and  more  sham  architecture 
painted  upon  the  stucco — Italian  cornices,  pilasters, 
medallions,  festoons,  brackets,  balustrades,  and  other 
abominations,  all  in  the  most  frightful  colours  that 
were  ever  mixed  by  the  ingenuity  of  a  house-painter — 
intolerable  pinks  and  buffs  that  would  make  an  artist 
sick  to  look  at  them.  Here,  however,  the  evil  is  in  a 
mild,  incipient  form,  not  much  worse  than  I  have  seen 
it  in  some  parts  of  England,  where  a  window  would  be 
represented  by  a  slab  of  stone  in  place  of  the  glass,  on 
which  stone  the  house-painter  would  do  his  worst,  and 
represent,  on  a  black  ground,  a  sash  half  open,  with 


A  Neat  and  Tidy  House.  15 

curtains  and  tassels  visible  through  the  imaginary  glass, 
and  (supreme  triumph  of  his  art !)  a  vase  of  flowers  in 
the  middle,  which  no  gust  of  wind  would  ever  dash  to 
the  ground,  nor  any  sunshine  fade.  This  tall,  narrow 
house  at  Macon  had,  however,  other  charms  than  its 
painted  windows.  It  belonged  to  the  new  class  of 
French  houses,  the  neat  and  tidy  class,  a  I*  ins  tar  de 
Paris,  in  which  the  old  provincial  notions  of  abundant 
space  and  the  most  awkward  arrangements,  with  an 
incredible  roughness  in  everything,  have  given  place  to 
the  most  unexceptionable  neatness  and  finish,  with  such 
a  rigid  economy  of  space  that  there  is  scarcely  room  to 
turn.  The  polished  oak  floors  were  certainly  very 
pretty — much  too  pretty  to  be  walked  upon  in  strong 
boots — but  the  rooms  were  so  small,  and  the  stairs  so 
narrow,  that  it  was  like  being  in  some  tiny  Parisian 
apartment.  By  way  of  compensation,  the  garden  was 
very  large,  and  in  the  most  beautiful  order.  This  set 
me  against  the  genteel  residence  at  once.  I  have  a 
hearty  dislike  to  gardens  of  all  sorts,*  and  the  only 
quality  which  could  ever  reconcile  me  to  a  big  one,  is 
its  close  resemblance  to  a  wilderness.  I  saw  plainly 
that  the  owner  of  the  residence  was  one  of  those  un- 
fortunates who  are  afflicted  with  the  garden-madness, 
and  the  sequel  proved  this,  for  when  we  began  to  talk 
about  terms,  he  asked  an  absurdly  high  rent,  in  the  first 

*  Supposing  anything  better  to  be  accessible.  There  are  places 
so  ugly  that  a  garden  is  very  precious,  and  there  are  place:>  so 
shadeless  and  so  poor  in  foliage  that  a  few  trees  in  a  garden  are 
a  priceless  luxury  in  summer.  But  a  mile  of  wild  trout-stream  is", 
to  my  feeling,  worth  the  gardens  of  either  Chatsworth  or  Ver- 
sailles. 


1 6  "  Appartements  "  in  Mdcon. 

place,  and  in  the  next  made  it  a  condition  that  I  was  to 
keep  on  two  servants  of  his,  to  take  care  of  the  place, 
whether  I  liked  them  on  farther  acquaintance  or  not ! 

As  we  could  hear  of  nothing  suitable  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, we  decided  to  look  at  some  apartments  in 
the  town  itself,  more  to  satisfy  our  conscience  than  for 
any  result  to  be  expected  from  such  an  exploration. 
The  wonder  in  those  old  French  towns  is,  how  the 
people  can  endure  to  be  lodged  so  badly.  There  were 
generally  two  decent  rooms  and  a  sort  of  kitchen  some- 
where, 'after  which  we  asked  in  vain  for  the  bedrooms. 

Not  quite  in  vain,  perhaps,  for  the  person  in  charge 
always  answered,  with  the  greatest  decision,  that  nothing 
was  easier  than  to  show  them,  on  which  he  or  she  began 
opening  a  series  of  recesses  called  alcoves,  and  here  and 
there  perhaps  some  tiny  closet,  generally  quite  dark 
and  deprived  of  all  possibility  of  ventilation.  In  a 
word,  the  "  appartements  "  in  question  were  admirably 
adapted  for  a  bachelor's  lodgings,  especially  if  he  had 
his  meals  at  the  hotel,  but  it  would  be  difficult  in  the 
extreme  to  establish  a  family  therein,  except  as  people 
do  in  very  little  yachts,  where  the  same  space  has  to 
serve  both  for  day  and  night,  and  any  berth  is .  big 
enough  which  enables  its  tenant  to  go  to  sleep. .  The 
most  wonderful  of  all  these  dwellings  deserves  to  be 
mentioned  separately.  There  was  a  fine  salon  of  course, 
(there  always  is,)  a  pretentious  drawing-room  with  gilt 
mouldings  and  glistening  flowery  paper,  and  alcoves  to 
hide  the  beds  in,  and  a  marble  chimney-piece  and  the 
rest — a  place  in  which  a  good  deal  of  vulgar  furniture 
might  have  been  displayed  to  great  advantage.  There 


French  and  English  Dining-rooms.  17 

was  also  a  kitchen,  a  miserable  little  hole,  so  gloomy 
that  the  poor  cook  would  lose  the  use  of  her  eyesight 
in  it  before  long  ;  and  close  to  the  kitchen  there  was  the 
dining-room,  a  place  presenting  as  cheerful  an  appear- 
ance as  the  vestibule  of  a  solicitor's  office  in  Lincoln's 
Inn  Fields,  about  eleven  o'clock  at  night.  Not  only 
was  it  dingy  and  mean,  but  it  was  dark,  so  dark  that 
the  inhabitant  could  not  eat  in  it  at  mid-day  without  a 
lamp.  We  asked  if  the  tenant  was  expected  to  take 
his  ctijenner  by  candle-light,  it  being  just  noon  at  the 
time  of  our  visit  The  answer  we  received  was  an 
answer  never  to  be  forgotten.  "Unfortunately,"  said 
the  guide,  "  you  have  come  two  hours  too  late ;  but  I 
assure  you  that  at  ten  o'clock,  which  is  the  proper  time 
for  dejeuner,  a  ray  of  sunshine  darts  into  the  room  as  if 
on  purpose,  and  illuminates  it  most  agreeably."  On 
this  I  asked  if  the  sun  were  so  good  as  to  come  back 
at  dinner-time  too. 

The  dining-rooms  in  these  habitations  are  often  no- 
thing but  a  passage  or  entrance,  but  the  inconvenience 
is  not  much  felt,  as  even  in  the  poorer  middle  class  in 
France  the  dining-room  is  never  inhabited,  except 
during  meal-times.  In  England,  as  the  reader  knows, 
unless  he  is  some  very  exalted  personage  who  has 
never  been  in  a  middle-class  house,  it  is  a  very  common 
custom  to  pass  the  evening  in  the  dining-room,  which 
accounts  for  its  superior  comfort.  A  Frenchman  will 
dine  anywhere  if  he  has  only  a  cheap  chair  to  sit  upon, 
and  four  bare  walls  to  keep  the  wind  out,  but  he  does 
not  like  sitting  in  an  eating-room.  I  think  that  in  this 
the  Frenchman  is  quite  right.  The  essential  quality  of 

C 


l8  The  Saone. 

a  salle  a  manger  is,  that  it  should  be  used  for  that 
purpose  and  no  other. 

It  is  astonishing  how  uncouth  were  some  of  the  ap- 
partcments  we  visited  at  Macon,  and  what  dismal  look- 
outs they  had.  One  of  them,  consisting  of  two  or  three 
very  big  rooms,  looked  out  upon  a  dingy  old  back  street 
with  a  stagnant  ntisseau  in  the  middle  of  it,  or  in  other 
words  an  open  sewer,  and  after  this  we  had  enough  of 
seeking,  for  the  present.  One  of  us  proposed  a  voyage 
on  the  Saone,  from  Macon  to  Lyons,  as  a  steamer  passed 
every  day,  coming  down  from  Chalon.  So  we  got  on 
board  and  left  behind  us  the  city  of  Lamartine.  The 
steamer  was  very  long  and  very  narrow,  and  the  deck 
was  so  encumbered  with  merchandise  that  it  was  hardly 
possible  to  stir.  There  were  also  numbers  of  peasant 
women  with  produce  for  the  Lyons  market.  We  sat  on 
a  box,  and  soon  forgot  the  discomfort  of  the  boat,  in 
the  lovely  river  scenery  which  now  passed  continually 
before  us. 

The  Saone  is  a  particularly  tranquil  stream  between 
Chalon  and  Macon,  and  also  for  many  miles  further 
south.  As  you  go  down  it  on  the  steamer,  it  seems  as 
if  you  were  boating  on  a  long  pond  which  opened  into 
another  long  pond,  and  so  on,  endlessly.  The  scenery 
is  of  the  kind  which  is  often  described  as  uninteresting, 
but,  in  truth,  it  is  exquisitely  beautiful  in  its  own  quiet 
way.  I  think  that  scenery  is  always  interesting  if  only 
it  is  in  one  extreme  or  another.  The  mountain-river  is 
delightful  (the  Orchy,  for  example,  which  passes  by 
Dalmally,  and  enters  Loch  Awe  at  Kilchurn),  but  the 
broad  river  of  the  plain  is  delightful,  too,  in  its  sleepy 


Trfooux.  19 

reaches,  where  the  tall  and  graceful  trees  reflect  them- 
selves in  the  smooth  broad  water.  You  have  not  here 
the  excitement  of  the  mountains,  but  what  a  sweet 
repose  !  You  have  scarcely  any  grandeur,  except  here 
and  there  the  grandeur  of  some  noble  tree  or  some 
huge  cumulus  cloud  that  sails  slowly  across  the  plain, 
and  reflects  its  whiteness  in  the  broad  water ;  but  you 
have  beauty,  serenity,  and  a  sort  of  dreamy  infinity,  for 
it  seems  as  if  such  scenery  could  never  have  an  end. 
A  hundred  pictures  compose  themselves  and  break  up 
again  into  fragments  as  the  steamer  steadily  advances, 
till  at  length  the  mind  accepts  the  illusion  that  it  must 
be  so  for  ever,  that  the  river  will  flow  on  in  a  boundless 
plain,  infinite  as  the  sky. 

Our  voyage,  however,  came  to  an  end — and  to  an  un- 
expected end.  After  we  had  steamed  for  several  hours, 
when  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  the  river  began  to 
conduct  itself  very  differently,  and  the  land  was  no 
longer  the  same.  The  banks  rose  steeply  now,  and  to 
a  great  height,  all  covered  with  vines  and  villages — a 
rich  land.  The  broad  river  began  to  wind  about  like  a 
mountain-stream,  and  to  ripple  and  run  over  its  shal- 
lows. One  of  the  most  poetic  impressions  I  ever  re- 
ceived was  the  view  of  Trevoux  from  the  river,  an  old 
town  with  a  mediaeval  castle ;  the  town  on  the  slope 
of  a  steep  hill  with  a  curve  like  an  amphitheatre,  the 
towers  of  the  castle  on  the  top,  the  river  flowing  at  the 
bottom,  and  all  in  the  mellow  glow  of  a  late  afternoon 
sun,  which  bathed  the  rich  confusion  of  old  buildings  in 
a  warm,  strong  light  like  that  in  the  pictures  of  Adrien 
Guignet.  It  was  a  painter's  scene,  under  a  full  pictorial 

C  2 


2O  Our  Steamer  runs  aground. 

effect.  After  that  the  hilly  character  of  the  scenery 
continued,  and  at  length,  when  within  eight  miles  of 
Lyons,  we  came  to  a  swift  rippling  shallow  in  a  sharp 
curve,  just  such  as  you  will  find  in  any  trout-stream,  but 
on  a  much  larger  scale,  the  long  steamer  ran  aground, 
and  our  voyage  reached  a  sudden  and  unexpected 
termination. 

This  was  very  like  canoe-travelling  in  the  running 
aground,  but  it  was  not  at  all  like  canoe-travelling  in 
the  difficulty  of  getting  afloat  again.  The  canoeist 
jumps  out,  gives  his  little  vessel  a  shove,  then  gets  in 
again  and  paddles  away  merrily,  but  our  long  steamer 
was  not  so  easily  dealt  with.  The  men  got  very  long 
poles  and  pushed  as  hard  as  they  could,  the  paddle- 
\vheels  revolved  and  churned  the  shallow  current  into 
foam.  As  for  the  peasant-women  who  were  going  to 
the  Lyons  market,  they  showed  no  sign  of  alarm,  but 
quietly  began  to  eat  their  own  apples,  having  evidently 
no  expectation  of  any  immediate  deliverance.  In  tidal 
estuaries,  such  an  accident  is  of  little  consequence, 
because  the  captain  knows  that  the  tide  will  come  to 
deliver  him,  and  the  almanac  foretells  the  hour  of  his 
liberation,  but  in  a  stream  like  the  Saone  the  only 
increase  of  water  occurs  in  rainy  weather,  and  when  we 
ran  aground  the  barometer  was  au  beau  fixe.  A  hawser 
was  sent  to  the  shore  and  tugged  at  by  a  crowd  of 
people — they  might  as  well  have  tugged  at  a  church. 
As  the  steamer  was  simply  immovable,  the  captain 
came  to  us  very  politely  and  expressed  his  regrets,  say- 
ing that  we  should  do  well  to  leave  the  boat  at  once, 
which  we  did  accordingly.  There  was  a  railway  station 


Fontaines  and  Collonges.  21 

very  near,  but  we  had  an  hour  or  two  before  train-time, 
and  spent  the  interval  in  exploring  the  beautiful  neigh- 
bourhood of  Fontaines  and  Collonges,  which  are  to 
Lyons  what  Richmond  is  to  London,  but  not  nearly  so 
populous,  for  one  of  these  villages  has  but  a  thousand 
inhabitants,  and  the  other  rather  less.  All  this  part  of 
the  Saone  is  hilly,  and  from  the  heights  on  the  right 
bank  you  have  magnificent  views,  bounded  by  the  Alps 
of  Savoy.  Many  rich  people  at  Lyons  have  houses 
between  this  place  and  the  city,  either  on  the  banks 
of  4he  Saone  itself,  or  in  the  lovely  valleys  which  come 
down  to  it.  The  region  is  quite  a  noble  one,  but  we 
were  discouraged  for  the  present  in  our  house-seeking, 
and  did  nothing  but  enjoy  the  beauty  of  the  place  as 
simple  tourists  till  we  returned  to  Macon.  As  for  the 
steamer,  we  left  her  where  she  grounded,  and  what 
became  of  her  I  know  not.  The  captain  would  no 
doubt  discharge  a  part  of  his  cargo  to  lighten  her,  and 
let  us  hope  that  the  peasant- women  of  La  Bresse*  got 
their  apples  and  cheeses  to  market.  They  were  all  the 
more  interesting  for  that  very  funny,  but  not  altogether 
unbecoming,  costume  of  theirs,  with  its  especially  re- 
markable headdress.  The  reader  may  perhaps  have 
noticed  the  one-legged  stool  which  the  Alpine  herds- 
men carry  fastened  behind  them  when  they  go  to  milk 
the  cows  on  the  mountain-sides  ;  well,  the  headdress  in 
question  is  very  like  that  stool  wrong  side  up,  with  its 
one  leg  in  the  air,  the  large  round  disc  being  flat  on  the 
head,  with  four  curtains  of  black  lace  hanging  from  it, 

*  La  Bresse  is  the  plain  between  the  Macon  country  and  the 
Jura. 


22  Costume  of  La  Bresse. 


two  on  each  side,  and  a  narrow  valence  of  the  same 
material  all  round  it.  The  pinnacle,  too,  is  decorated 
at  the  top  and  also  close  to  the  disc.  Odd  as  it  looks, 
this  headdress  is  a  good  invention  for  a  country  where 
the  summers  are  very  hot  and  glaring,  and  it  often  saves 
the  women  the  trouble  of  carrying  an  umbrella  as  a 
parasol,  which  they  very  commonly  do  elsewhere  in  the 
great  heats.  The  rest  of  the  costume  is  quaint  and 
picturesque,  and  has  a  pretty  coquettish  look  when  it  is 
new,  with  the  short  petticoats,  neat  aprons,  and  broad 
bands  of  velvet  on  the  bodices.  Add  to  this  the  perfect 
whiteness  of  the  linen,  with  its  pretty  embroidery  or 
plaiting  in  collar  and  cap,  and  you  have  a  traditional 
dress  which  may  gratify  the  female  anxiety  to  look 
nice,  whilst,  at  the  same  time,  it  effectually  prevents  the 
disastrous  vanity  of  copying  the  upper  classes.* 

*  It  is  expensive  in  itself,  however.  My  fellow-traveller,  who  is 
a  much  better  judge  of  these  things  than  I  can  pretend  to  be,  tells 
me  that  in  no  single  instance  did  she  ever  detect  a  bit  of  imitation 
lace  on  one  of  these  headdresses,  whilst  the  gold  chains  are  at  least 
as  costly  as  those  worn  by  ladies,  and  the  costume  is  not  complete 
without  chains.  But,  however  expensive  a  traditional  costume  may 
be,  it  is  far  cheaper  in  the  long  run  than  the  changing  frivolities  of 
the  Paris  fashions ;  and,  besides  this  advantage,  it  prevents  women 
from  thinking  incessantly  about  their  dress  and  studying  the 
gazettes  of  fashion,  such  as  Le  Printemps  and  La  Mode  Illustrte. 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  wine-district  of  Burgundy — Defects  of  a  wine-country  as  a 
place  of  residence — A  forest  chateau — A  fancied  tragedy  and 
a  real  one — The  barbarian  life — Prosperous  wine-growers — • 
Nuits — The  battle  of  Nuits— We  go  to  Besangon — Apparte- 
ments  at  Besangon — Appearance  of  the  city — Picturesque 
old  buildings — Belfort — A  clean  hotel — The  fortress — The 
valley  of  the  Doubs — Beauty  of  the  hills  and  river — Beaume- 
les-Dames — An  affectionate  landlady — Romantic  and  utili- 
tarian views  about  habitations — A  picturesque  old  house — The 
owner  of  it — A  lonely  life — Wonderful  chimney— A  paradise 
of  utilitarianism — We  find  the  perfect  house — A  great  disap- 
pointment— Needs  of  a  landscape-painter. 

THE  great  wine-district  of  Burgundy  had  few  attrac- 
tions for  me  as  a  place  of  residence ;  indeed  I  know 
few  regions  of  equal  interest  to  the  passing  tourist, 
which  seem  so  little  desirable  for  permanent  habita- 
tion. Every  traveller  who  has  gone  by  railway  from 
Dijon  to  Chalon  will  remember  how  the  great  plain  of 
Burgundy  is  bounded  on  the  west  by  a  steep  and  lofty 
bank  of  land,  precipitous  here  and  there,  and  almost 
interminably  long,  covered  with  vineyards,  and  with 
many  rich  villages  at  its  base.  That  steep  long  bank 
of  stony  ground  is  the  famous  Cote  d'Or,  where  the 
grapes  are  grown  which  fill  so  many  cellars  with  wine 
and  so  many  pockets  with  gold.  It  is  a  region  of  well- 
to-do  people,  a  region  where  the  perennial  flow  of 


24  The  C6te  d'Or. 


grape-juice,  always  easily  transmuted  into  money,  has 
made  all  but  the  imprudent  rich.  It  is  a  country  of 
good  living,  where  excellent  cooks  have  transmitted 
their  science  from  generation  to  generation,  improving 
it  and  adding  to  it  incessantly.  The  inhabitants  are 
manly,  frank,  hospitable,  and  good-tempered,  though 
rather  hasty ;  and  as  for  intelligence,  it  is  not  easy  to 
find  a  region  in  all  Europe  where  men's  wits  are  so 
keen  and  lively.  But,  notwithstanding  all  these  recom- 
mendations, the  Cote  cFOr  is  not  a  land  where  I  should 
care  to  live.  You  have  the  Cote  and  the  plain,  the  plain 
and  the  Cote,  two  great  things,  but  likely  to  become 
very  wearisome  in  time.  There  is  no  water,  with  its 
pleasant  life  and  changefulness  ;  no  hills  are  visible  but 
the  steep  Cote,  except  on  a  very  clear  day,  when  you  get 
a  sight  of  the  distant  Jura,  like  a  pale  mist  far  away ; 
there  are  no  trees,  or  hardly  any,  so  precious  is  the  land 
for  the  wealth-producing  vines  ;  and  your  only  refuge 
from  the  wearisome  monotony  of  the  scenery  is  to  go 
up  one  of  the  dry  narrow  rocky  gorges  which,  happily 
for  the  inhabitants,  penetrate  at  intervals  into  the 
elevated  land,  where,  after  winding  for  a  little  distance 
like  true  valleys,  they  come  suddenly  to  an  abrupt 
termination  at  the  foot  of  an  inaccessible  precipice. 
We  stayed  with  a  friend  in  this  region  who  possessed 
a  very  pretty  chalet-like  house  (much  more  convenient 
than  a  real  chalet),  and  therefore  we  saw  the  country 
under  a  more  cheerful  aspect  than  if  we  had  stayed  in 
one  of  the  rough  inns ;  but  my  first  impression  re- 
mained unaltered,  in  spite  of  all  that  hospitality  could  do 
to  make  things  seem  agreeable.  A  vine-land  is  very 


A  Barbarian  Chateau.  2$ 

splendid  in  autumn,  for  the  autumnal  colour  is  beyond 
all  description  glorious  ;  but  in  summer  the  dull  green 
is  sadly  wanting  in  variety,  and  in  the  dreary  blaze  of 
unchanging  sunshine  the  low  vines  offer  no  shade. 
Besides,  one  has  no  sense  of  liberty  when  looking  on 
a  French  vine  country,  for  it  is  not  a  pleasant  land  to 
walk  over,  in  the  narrow  paths  between  the  sticks.  In 
short,  the  vines  may  be  an  agreeable  sight  for  those 
whom  they  make  rich  (most  disagreeable,  however,  even 
to  these  in  the  bad  years,  which  occur  so  frequently) ;  but  a 
landscape-painter,  who  likes  to  surround  himself  with  an 
abundance  of  natural  beauty,  does  better  to  avoid  them. 
During  our  stay  in  the  wine-district,  we  wfere  taken 
to  see  different  places  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  I  re- 
member one  of  them  which  was  so  thoroughly  French 
in  character,  so  unlike  anything  you  will  ever  meet  with 
in  England,  that  a  short  description  of  it  may  possibly 
be  read  with  interest.  The  place  was  a  chateau  be- 
longing to  some  old  noble  family,  a  wild  and  lonely 
mansion  far  above  the  level  where  the  vines  grow,  sur- 
rounded by  broad  dreary  fields,  which,  in  their  turn, 
were  entirely  hemmed  in  by  the  densest  forest.  From 
the  windows  of  that  house  nothing  was  to  be  seen  but 
this  opening  of  rough  pasture,  with  the  ring  of  close 
dark  forest  all  round  it  ;  no  other  human  dwelling  was 
visible,  nor  any  landscape  save  one  or  two  slight  un- 
dulations of  the  forest-land.  The  house  itself  was 
surely  the  roughest  place  ever  inhabited  by  a  gentleman. 
There  was  not  the  faintest  pretension  to  finish  in  any 
part  of  it.  Even  in  the  interior  the  floors  and  stairs 
were  composed  of  rough- hewn  blocks  of  stone,  which 


26  A  Barbarian  Chateau. 

looked  as  if  they  just  came  fresh  from  the  quarry.  A 
certain  wild  picturesqueness  about  the  place  gave  me 
a  sort  of  grim  satisfaction  for  an  hour  or  two.  It  was 
full  of  character,  with  its  big  stables,  and  dog-kennels, 
and  everything  necessary  for  a  French  hunting  estab- 
lishment. One  could  easily  imagine  it  filled  with  men 
— jolly  strong  fellows,  spending  their  days  in  the  chase 
and  their  evenings  over  the  wine-flagons  on  the  rude 
oak  table  in  the  dining-room  ;  but  no  stretch  of  fancy 
could  imagine  ladies  there  as  inhabitants — the  place  was 
too  rough  for  them.  The  floors  were  made,  as  it  seemed, 
for  big  strong  boots,  and  not  for  pretty  thin  dancing- 
shoes.  It  is  not  possible  to  imagine  any  dwelling  more 
utterly  opposed  to  the  sentiment  of  the  modern  draw- 
ing-room. It  was  not  a  Philistine  residence,  not 
bourgeois  in  the  least — from  that  vice  it  was  safe  indeed, 
it  was  thoroughly  and  grandly  barbarian — a  place 
where  you  might  utterly  ignore  and  forget  the  modern 
world,  with  all  its  refinements  and  aspirations,  and  live 
only  to  hunt  boldly,  eat  with  a  hunter's  appetite,  and 
drink  like  a  rich  Burgundian.  As  for  that  dreary,  sad 
sentiment  which  appeared  to  reign  about  the  lonely 
place,  no  doubt  some  feeling  of  that  kind  would  invade 
the  mind  of  any  delicate  lady  or  thoughtful  gentleman 
who  might  live  in  such  a  situation  alone  for  months 
together,  but  the  merry  huntsmen  would  bring  with 
them  another  temper  to  the  place.  To  them  the  dreary 
forest  would  be  nothing  but  so  much  excellent  cover 
for  th'i  deer  and  the  wild  boar — to  them  the  cheerless- 
lookirg  rude  old  halls  of  the  castle  would  be  gay  in  the 
evenings  with  their  own  gaiety.  I  can  even  fancy  just 


A   Tragedy.  27 

so  much  of  art  about  the  place  as  this — I  can  fancy 
some  painter  of  sylvan  sports  setting  up  his  easel  for  a 
month  or  two  in  one  of  the  big  uninhabited  rooms,  and 
painting  there  some  picture  of  a  stag-hunt  or  a  boar- 
hunt  that  he  had  just  recently  seen  and  shared  in.  Or, 
on  the  other  hand,  I  can  well  imagine  some  novelist 
dwelling  there  through  the  wild  months  of  winter, 
when  the  wolves  come  out  of  the  forest,  and  composing 
some  fearfully  tragic  story,  enough  to  make  every 
reader  shudder,  and  cause  his  own  blood  to  run  cold  as 
he  sat  imagining  and  writing  it.  Indeed,  so  strongly 
impressed  was  I  with  the  appropriateness  of  the 
chateau  as  a  scene  of  tragedy,  that  I  communicated 
the  idea  to  the  friend  who  had  taken  us  there,  and  he 
answered — not  in  the  least  to  my  surprise — "  There  is 
no  need  to  imagine  any  unreal  horrors  for  the  place, 
since  what  really  occurred  here  is  enough." 

"  Has  there  been  a  murder  here,  then,  really  ?" 
"  You  see  that  small  pool  of  water  on  the  terrace 
just  before  the  perron  at  the  front  door.  Well,  the 
house  was  inhabited  by  two  brothers,  who  suspected 
their  sister  and  the  gardener  of  a  mutual  attachment, 
so  to  put  an  end  to  it  they  simply  went  and  drowned 
him  in  that  little  ornamental  pool,  holding  him  down 
in  the  shallow  water  till  life  was  quite  extinct." 

So  this  is  what  the  barbarian  sentiment  of  the  place 
had  led  to,  and  quite  in  recent  times !  These  two 
young  noblemen  had  been  leading  the  true  barbarian 
life  there,  slaying  every  day  in  the  wild  forest,  and  quite 
beyond  all  civilizing  influences  ;  so  the  mere  apprehen- 
sion of  a  possible  mesalliance  made  them  capable  of 


28  Return  to  the   Vine- Lands. 

anything  to  remove  the  danger.  They  might  have  dis- 
missed the  gardener,  but  such  a  course  did  not  seem  so 
effectual  as  that  little  plan  of  holding  him  down  in  the 
shallow  water  until  he  breathed  no  longer.  Passion  and 
self-will  develop  themselves  very  freely  in  the  noble 
barbarian  life.  The  reader  may  remember  the  case  of 
a  young  nobleman  in  Brittany  who  murdered  his  own 
brother  from  jealousy  about  a  servant-girl.  All  this  is 
in  the  true  middle-age  spirit,  which  lingers  still  in  the 
old  families — that  spirit  which  looks  upon  inferiors  as 
its  natural  prey,  and  removes  whatever  comes  between 
a  desire  and  its  accomplishment. 

When  we  got  down  again  into  the  comfortable 
money-making  wine  district,  the  change  from  that  half- 
savage  chateau  amongst  the  woods  was  like  passing 
from  the  fifteenth  to  the  nineteenth  century  in  a  single 
afternoon.  How  rich,  and  safe,  and  prosperous  every- 
thing looked  there  !  The  snug  mansions  of  the  wine 
merchants  and  growers  (most  of  the  growers  are  mer- 
chants also),  the  great  clusters  of  buildings  belonging  to 
the  rich  peasants,  all  slept  in  the  sunshine  surrounded 
by  their  vines  and  gardens.  Along  the  broad  good 
road  which  passes  from  hamlet  to  hamlet,  from  village 
to  village,  you  would  meet  at  that  time  hardly  anything 
but  great  long  carts  with  enormous  wheels,  and  barrels 
piled  to  a  giddy  height  above,  held  tight  by  cords 
stretched  with  a  windlass,  or  else  the  safer-looking 
four-wheeled  waggon,  laden  with  the  same  inevitable 
barrels.  That  was  in  the  piping  times  of  peace.  In 
the  winter  of  1870  the  same  region  was  the  scene  of 
the  most  furious  fighting  in  Burgundy.  We  were 


The  Fighting  at  Nnits.  29 

staying  at  a  house  very  near  the  famous  Clos  Vougeot, 
and  1  remember  going  on  foot  one  day  to  the  little 
town  of  Nuits,  having  a  pleasant  walk,  enlivened  by  an 
occasional  chat  with  some  peasant  on  the  way,  and  with 
the  shopkeepers  in  the  place,  where  everything  seemed 
so  sleepy  and  quiet  that  the  wonder  was  how  the  shops 
ever  found  any  customers.  I  like  an  intensely  dull 
little  town,  where  the  people  never  seem  to  be  in  a 
hurry,  but  can  lounge  and  gossip  in  the  evening  about 
their  doors,  or  stay  inside  when  the  sun  is  hot  at  noon. 
Such  a  place  was  Nuits,  at  that  time  ;  but  when  the 
war-tide  rolled  over  the  country  it  so  happened  that 
this  cosy  little  place  was  the  scene  of  one  of  the 
bloodiest  battles  fought  during  the  whole  campaign. 
In  its  one  street  there  occurred  a  hand-to-hand  struggle 
with  bayonet,  sword,  and  revolver,  which  quite  literally 
covered  it  with  dead  or  wounded  men.  And  then  the 
hostile  forces  took  to  fighting  in  the  houses — men 
stabbing  each  other  in  staircases,  and  fighting  duels 
in  narrow  passages  and  amongst  the  furniture  of  bed- 
rooms. It  is  difficult  to  imagine  anything  in  warfare 
more  terrible  than  a  conflict  in  houses.  It  is  like  a 
massacre,  and  much  of  it  is  sure  to  be  little  better  than 
downright  murder.  Either  in  the  town  itself  or  along 
the  line  of  railway,  near  the  station,  the  Prussians  alone 
lost  a  number  of  men  equal  to  twice  the  population  of 
the  place.  Amidst  all  these  horrors  occurred  one  very 
ludicrous  incident.  A  cowardly  mobile,  wishing  to  get 
out  of  harm's  way,  hid  himself  in  a  closet,  but  a  frag- 
ment of  shell  burst  through  the  door  and  wounded  him 
rather  severely. 


30  Besan^on. 

The  monotony  of  the  district,  and  the  absence  of 
water,  had  decided  me  against  it  from  the  first,  so  we 
took  the  train  for  a  much  more  beautiful  region — the 
valley  of  the  Doubs  above  Besancon.  We  made  that 
city  our  head-quarters.  My  wife  had  rather  a  tenderness 
for  the  place,  from  pleasant  recollections  of  the  time 
when  her  father  had  been  prefect  there,  and  of  the  kind 
sympathy  of  the  inhabitants  when  he  resigned  the 
prefecture  for  reasons  of  political  honour,  and  quitted 
them.  I  suspect,  too,  that  there  may  have  been 
lingering  sentiments  of*  regret  for  certain  charming  and 
very  tasteful  rooms  at  the  palais,  which  is  one  of  the 
handsomest  in  France.  We  had  leisure  to  walk  about 
the  town,  which  I  had  not  before  seen,  and  although 
ladies  are  not  generally  very  accurate  topographers,  my 
guide  showed  me  everything  of  interest.  Our  plan  was 
not  to  take  anything  within  the  walls  of  Besancon,  yet, 
by  way  of  precaution,  we  looked  at  every  possibly 
suitable  tenement  that  was  to  be  let.  This  was  a 
repetition  of  our  experience  at  Macon,  with  the 
difference  that  at  Besan£on  the  appartements  were 
better-finished  and  more  showy  than  at  Macon,  but 
less  roomy.  I  remember  one  of  them  especially,  with 
a  particularly  well-finished  salon,  just  like  a  large  bon- 
bonniere,  the  good  taste  of  which  was  very  pleasing  to 
me  ;  but  then  there  was  nothing  else  except  closets.  In 
an  English  country  town  you  would  have  had  a  con- 
venient house  with  good  bedrooms  for  the  same  rent. 
The  patience  with  which  the  French  submit  to  unen- 
durable inconveniences  about  their  dwellings  is  another 
thing  which  still  surprises  me,  though  I  ought  to  be 


Besan$on.  3 1 

used  to  it  by  this  time.  We  were  recommended  at 
Besangon  to  go  and  see  a  very  eligible  apartment  with 
a  good  view  of  the  hills,  and  when  we  got  there  we 
made  the  discovery  that  the  only  way  of  getting  in  and 
out  would  be  through  a  public  cafi.  Who  would  put 
up  with  such  an  intolerable  inconvenience  as  that  ? 
Certainly  no  Englishman  would  unless  he  were  abso- 
lutely forced  to  it,  but  in  France  it  will  not  prevent  the 
owner  of  the  building  from  finding  some  respectable 
tenant. 

To  any  traveller  who  is  not  house-hunting,  Besangon 
must  appear  a  very  well-built  city.  The  houses  look 
very  roomy  and  substantial  from  the  outside,  and  are 
strongly  constructed  of  good  stone.  There  are  plenty 
of  picturesque  old  houses  by  the  river-side,  which  an 
artist  would  be  glad  to  paint,  with  all  their  ins  and  outs 
of  gables  and  odd  corners  faithfully  reflected  in  the 
Doubs ;  but  if  he  were  wise  he  would  be  sorry  to  live  in 
one  of  them.  Picturesque  old  mediaeval  buildings  are 
a  great  attraction  to  sketchers,  but  they  are  not  salu- 
brious, and  the  modern  town-councils  are  excusable 
when  they  clear  them  away.  Besan^on  is  situated  on 
an  elevated  piece  of  land  that  is  all  but  islanded  by  the 
Doubs,  which  flows  almost  entirely  round  it.  The  town 
is  grimly  guarded  by  very  strong  forts  on  neighbouring 
heights  of  rock,  and  has  altogether  the  rather  prison- 
like  aspect  which  makes  all  fortified  towns  undesirable 
places  of  residence,  unless,  like  Paris,  they  are  so  big 
that  you  can  forget  all  about  the  fortifications. 

We  went  up  the  valley  of  the  Doubs  as  far  as  Bel- 
fort  It  is  not  a  long  journey,  yet  quite  long  enough 


32  Belfort. 

to  carry  the  traveller  from  one  set  of  national  habits 
to  another.  Near  Belfort  we  passed  a  building  which, 
though  it  was  called  a  chateaii,  was  in  reality  a  German 
schloss,  and  when  we  got  to  our  hotel,  we  were  charmed 
with  a  degree  of  cleanliness  very  different  from  the 
state  of  things  which  had  put  us  so  completely  out  of 
humour  with  the  Rhone.  The  floors  of  the  rooms  were 
prettily  arranged  in  squares  of  white  wood,  bordered 
with  dark,  and  as  clean  as  possible,  so  that  the  two 
kinds  of  wood  (white  pine  and  walnut)  showed  the  con- 
trast of  their  natural  colours  to  perfection  ;  in  the  south 
they  would  have  been  confounded  together  under  one 
uniform  crust  of  dirt.  The  people,  too,  were  cleanly 
and  agreeable,  so  that,  during  our  short  stay  at  Belfort, 
we  could  see  things  with  unprejudiced  eyes.  The  great 
fortress  there  is  apparently  one  of  the  strongest  in 
France  (in  modern  fortification  the  strength  is  not 
always  apparent  to  a  civilian) ;  and  I  distinctly  remem- 
ber how  we  said  to  each  other  what  a  terrible  struggle 
the  siege  of  such  a  place  would  be — little  thinking  that 
so  short  a  time  would  elapse  before  the  bomb-shells 
would  be  shattering  themselves  against  those  mighty 
ramparts,  and  the  heroic  defence  of  Belfort  would  be 
one  of  the  very  few  bright  pages  in  a  gloomy  and 
disastrous  chapter  of  French  history.  Little,  too,  did 
we  think  that  all  the  stretch  of  country  visible  to  the 
eastward  would  so  soon  become  Prussian  territory,  and 
Belfort  would  only  be  preserved  to  France  by  the 
patriotic  obstinacy  of  one  old  man  passionately  plead- 
ing before  an  irresistible  conqueror,  for  ten  hours  at  a 
time.  He  had  his  reward  later,  there  in  Belfort  itself. 


The  Valley  of  the  Doubs.  33 

\vhen  the  people  gave  him  such  a  reception  as  any 
sovereign  might  envy,  but  only  the  most  beloved  of 
sovereigns  could  command. 

Here,  hcwever,  it  was  plain  that  we  had  either  gone 
too  far  to  the  eastward,  or  not  far  enough  ;  that  we  had 
left  behind  us  the  beautiful  valley  of  the  Doubs,  and  had 
not  yet  gone  far  enough  eastwards  for  the  interesting 
scenery  of  the  Upper  Rhine,  especially  that  portion  of 
it  which  divides  Baden  from  Switzerland,  the  country 
of  Rheinfelden,  Lauffenburg,  &c.,  beloved  of  Turner. 
All  that  lay  due  east  of  us  now,  and  not  at  any  great 
distance,  but  it  was  out  of  France,  and  my  wish -was  to 
keep  within  the  frontier.  We  therefore  determined  to 
explore  the  valley  of  the  Doubs  more  in  detail,  and  see 
if  some  suitable  house  could  be  found  there.  All  that 
ralley  is  beautiful  down  to  Besancon.  The  lines  of  the 
nills  are  especially  graceful,  and  well  worth  studying. 
At  that  time  my  great  interest  in  landscape  was  in  the 
beauty  of  mountains,  so  that  a  region  of  this  kind  was 
rich  in  the  material  that  I  most  desired  to  study.  The 
river,  too,  charmed  me  by  its  purity,  and  a  sort  of  tran- 
quil grace  appreciable  even  from  the  railway,  but  which 
would  no  doubt  have  been  infinitely  more  delightful 
from  a  boat  on  the  river  itself,  and  this  I  very  well 
knew.  The  most  beautifully  situated  place  in  the 
whole  valley  appeared  to  be  Beaume-les-Dames,  so  we 
stayed  there  to  explore.  Here  we  established  ourselves 
at  an  inn  kept  by  an  elderly  lady,  who  immediately 
took  the  most  maternal  interest  in  both  of  us,  treating 
us  with  a  degree  of  kindness  which  made  us  inclined 
to  believe  that  she  must  be  an  unknown  aunt  of  ours, 

D 


34  An  Affectionate  Landlady. 

or  grandmother,  if  such  a  thing  were  possible. 
Beaume-les-Dames  is  celebrated  for  a  particular  kind 
of  goody  made  from  quinces,  a  sort  of  sticky  paste 
served  at  dessert,  and  which  certainly  does  (when  it  is 
properly  made)  retain  all  the  perfume  of  the  fruit 
This/^/<?  de  coings  was  in  perfection  at  our  inn,  and  m> 
wife  praised  it,  to  the  delight  of  our  affectionate  land- 
lady, who  must  needs  teach  her  to  make  it.  Our  search 
for  a  dwelling  interested  the  old  lady  exceedingly, 
and  she  did  all  in  her  power  to  help  us.  Am  I  heart- 
less enough  to  laugh  at  her  for  her  kindness  ?  Cer- 
tainly not.  We  could  not  help  being  a  little  amused 
by  it,  because  it  was  unexpected  and  incongruous,  and 
so  entirely  undeserved  ;  but  we  were  not  ungrateful. 
What  a  difference  between  that  good-natured  interest 
in  our  proceedings,  that  eagerness  to  teach  us  to  make 
quince  paste,  and  the  icy  indifference  of  the  "  adminis- 
Irateur  "  of  a  huge  hotel,  who  does  not  care  whence  you 
come  or  whither  you  go,  provided  only  that  you  have 
money  in  your  purse  ! 

There  was  one  point  on  which  the  superior  practical 
sense  of  my  fellow-traveller  more  than  once  preserved 
me  from  error.  I  have  a  weakness  for  antiquity  and 
the  picturesque  in  houses,  and  should  like  very  much  to 
nestle  in  a  corner  of  some  dilapidated  old  mansion  or 
castle,  and  gradually  get  the  rest  of  it  into  a  state  of 
simple  repair  (not  fanciful  "  restoration  "  of  that  which 
had  never  been)  ;  arranging  perhaps  two  rooms  every 
year,  till  the  whole  building  became  habitable  once 
again.  This  would  be  my  fancy,  but  I  have  always 
been  happily  prevented  from  carrying  it  into  executiop 


A  Romantic  Habitation.  35 

by  the  practical  spirit  of  my  fellow-traveller,  who  can- 
not endure  untidiness  in  any  shape,  and  could  never 
bear  to  feel  responsible  for  the  half-ruinous  state  of  an 
old  building.  Her  ideal  of  a  house  is  that  it  should 
be  just  big  enough  for  convenience,  yet  not  too  big  to 
be  easily  kept  in  order ;  that  it  should  be  perfectly 
"  distributed  "  so  that  all  the  rooms  be  just  where  they 
are  wanted,  and  that  there  should  be  every  imaginable 
facility  for  carrying  on  smoothly  and  regularly  that 
mysterious  and  very  comprehensive  business  which  is 
called  "  house-keeping."  She  became  rather  seriously 
alarmed,  however,  at  Beaume-les-Dames,  because  I  mani- 
fested that  dangerous  passion  for  a  romantic  habitation 
which  so  recklessly  sets  aside  every  consideration  of 
utility.  There  was  one  old  house  with  a  crumbling 
tower  in  the  courtyard,  excellent  for  a  sketch,  and  we 
ascended  to  the  upper  apartments  by  a  genuine  Gothic 
corkscrew  stair,  like  the  stair  in  a  church  steeple.  One 
or  two  of  the  rooms  were  wainscoted  with  old  oak  that 
had  been  painted  grey,  but  then  how  easy  it  would  be 
to  remove  the  paint  and  repair  the  carving  wherever 
necessary !  I  felt  a  certain  attraction  to  this  ancient 
dwelling,  which  looked  as  if  it  were  haunted  by  the 
ghosts  of  former  generations.  The  owner  of  it  lived 
up  on  the  hills,  so  we  took  a  carriage  and  drove  to  hh 
habitation.  During  our  journey  the  driver  volunteered 
an  account  of  the  man  we  were  going  to  see,  and  a  con- 
temptuous account  it  was,  but  the  effect  of  it  was  very 
different  from  anything  that  the  narrator  intended,  or 
was  capable  of  imagining.  The  more  contemptuous 
he  became,  the  more  sympathy  and  respect  did  I  feel 

D  2 


36  The  Solitary. 

for  the  owner  of  the  old  house.  His  history  in  brief 
was  this :  Instead  of  adding  franc  to  franc,  and  field 
to  field,  as  the  small  French  proprietor  generally  does, 
by  denying  himself  all  liberal  life  and  culture,  this  man 
had  narrowed  his  fortune  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge. 
He  had  travelled  much,  bought  books,  indulged  in  the 
habits  and  tastes  of  a  cultivated  man,  and  so  neglected 
his  pecuniary  interests,  until  he  had  finally  reduced 
himself  to  a  mere  pittance.  I  am  far  from  wishing  to 
imply  that  men  ought  to  ruin  themselves  in  the  pursuit 
of  knowledge,  or  even  that  they  can  do  so  blamelessly, 
and  I  much  more  warmly  approve  the  conduct  of  those 
who  manage  to  conciliate  culture  with  frugality,  for 
they  add  to  their  intellectual  strength  the  moral 
strength  of  self-denial  ;  but  the  passion  for  knowledge 
is  so  rare  in  the  provincial  mind — it  is  so  rare  to  find  a 
provincial  proprietor  who  will  give  five  francs  to  know 
anything,  that  when  we  do  meet  with  such  a  passion, 
even  in  excess,  we  cannot  but  feel  for  it  a  certain  grave 
respect,  a  deep  and  earnest  sympathy. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  meeting  with  that  lonely 
man.  It  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  loneliness  more 
complete.  On  a  dreary  table-land,  high  up  in  the  Jura, 
in  a  little  hamlet  inhabited  by  illiterate  peasants,  in  a 
thatched  cottage  with  the  usual  puddle  at  the  door,  he 
lived  with  the  remnant  of  his  books.  The  old  ruinous 
house  at  Beaume-les-Dames  was  the  only  source  of 
income  left  to  him,  and  it  was  not  easy  to  let.  I  was 
welcomed  with  an  eager  politeness,  as  a  possible  tenant. 
The  reader  will  suspect  me  of  inventing  for  artistic 
effect  when  I  describe  the  inhabitant  of  the  cottage, 


The  Solitary.  37 

but  the  description  is  simply  faithful.  I  found  him  study- 
ing a  noble  old  folio  volume,  with  other  such  goodly 
companions  lying  on  the  plain  deal  table  before  him. 
The  student  himself  looked  grey  and  worn,  the  sur- 
roundings were  those  of  an  anchorite,  and  without  the 
books  I  know  not  what  must  have  become  of  him. 
Day  after  day,  night  after  night,  from  year's  end  to 
year's  end,  he  lived  with  these,  and  had  not  a  soul  to 
speak  to  who  could  understand  him.  I  knew  from  the 
driver's  contemptuous  tone  what  the  people  thought 
of  the  strange  solitary  being  who  lived  amongst  them. 
A  fool  who  had  spent  his  money,  a  useless  wreck  of  a 
man  who  was  always  idling  over  books — this  was  the 
popular  decision.  Had  he  been  born  irremediably 
vulgar,  with  a  natural  keenness  after  money,  hardening 
into  avarice  in  early  majihood,  the  neighbours  would 
have  respected  him. 

He  returned  with  us  in  the  carriage,  that  we  might 
examine  the  old  house  together.  My  fellow- 
traveller,  as  the  reader  knows  already,  was  not 
enthusiastic  about  the  house,  but  regarded  it  rather 
with  a  cool  disposition  to  criticize,  from  the  utilitarian 
point  of  view.  The  owner,  on  the  other  hand,  had 
much  to  say  in  its  favour.  His  eloquence  seemed  to 
remove  every  difficulty.  All  inconveniences  vanished 
before  his  description  of  changes  which  were  net  only 
possible  but  delightfully  easy.  When  the  workmen  had 
been  in  the  place  three  weeks  we  should  not  know  it 
again.  There  was  one  rather  large  wainscoted  room 
which  I  fixed  upon  as  the  future  studio.  It  had  a  fire- 
place which  looked  very  capable  of  smoking.  We 


38  A  Paradise  of  Utilitarianism. 

inquired  if  it  smoked.  "Yes,  it  does,"  was  the  frank 
reply.  "  I  admire  your  candour,"  I  said  ;  "  you  are  the 
very  first  house-owner  I  ever  met  with  who  would  admit 
that  a  chimney  smoked."  "  I  confess  the  truth.  The 
chimney  does  smoke,  but  only  one  day  in  the  year— the 
twenty-ninth  of  March  ! "  We  laughed  very  heartily  at 
the  idea  of  the  chimney  which  kept  an  anniversary,  but 
why  it  had  fixed  upon  this  particular  date,  whether  from 
some  political  motive,  or  some  private  grief,  we  were  at 
a  loss  to  imagine.  I  suggested  that  if  the  chimney  had 
chosen  the  twenty-ninth  of  February  as  its  smoking- 
day  it  would  have  been  still  more  judicious. 

Utilitarianism  carried  the  day  against  romance,  and 
we  sought  elsewhere.  Then  we  found  a  perfect  paradise 
of  utilitarianism — a  mansion  built  quite  recently,  with 
all  modern  conveniences.  Every  floor  in  it  was  of  the 
neatest  oak  parquetry,  waxed  and  polished ;  every 
chimney-piece  looked  as  if  it  had  come  from  Paris ;  not 
an  inch  of  the  whole  house  was  out  of  repair.  There 
was  plenty  of  room  in  it,  too,  and  it  was  "  distributed  " 
on  scientific  principles — the  passage  and  staircase  just 
in  the  middle,  and  rooms  most  neatly  arranged  on 
each  side,  with  two  stories  above  the  ground-floor,  and 
commodious  attics.  There  was  a  very  tidy  garden  too, 
excessively  boiirgeois,  and  easy  to  keep  in  order.  "  Is 
not  this  perfection  ? "  I  asked,  rather  sarcastically.  "  It 
is  perfection  from  a  housekeeper's  point  of  view."  We 
should  certainly  have  taken  this  convenient  residence  if 
the  rent  had  been  rather  more  moderate,  but  the  owner 
had  spent  a  great  deal  upon  it  and  wanted  interest  for 
his  money.  There  is  a  grim  satisfaction  in  knowing 


A  House  by  the  Doubs.  39 

that  a  place  you  only  half  like  is  just  beyond  your 
means,  because  that  ends  your  doubts  and  settles  the 
question. 

So  we  went  back  to  Besangon,  having  gained  nothing 
by  our  expedition  except  the  art  of  making  quince 
paste.  At  Besangon  we  heard  of  a  country-house  by  the 
Doubs,  a  few  miles  above  the  town,  and  so  drove  to  sac 
it  The  back  of  this  house  was  near  the  road,  just  as 
Abbotsford  is  near  the  road  on  which  you  drive  from 
Melrose  ;  but  between  the  house  and  the  river  was  a 
large  well-arranged  lawn,  very  English  in  appearance, 
with  plenty  of  finely-grown  trees  for  shade,  and  the 
lawn  ended  on  the  margin  of  the  beautiful  river  itself, 
which  flowed  quietly  by  in  all  clearness  and  purity — the 
very  ideal  of  a  river  to  swim  in  and  boat  upon.  Beyond 
the  river  were  the  picturesque  heights  on  the  other  side 
of  the  valley,  and  behind  the  house  was  a  delightful 
rocky  ravine  with  a  mountain  rivulet  in  it,  coming  down 
from  the  lofty  pine  forest.  All  this  suited  me  exactly, 
for  it  was  exactly  adapted  to  the  work  and  play  of  my 
life.  I  could  write  and  paint  in  such  a  house  as  that  all 
day  long  without  being  disturbed  by  noise  ;  for  even 
the  road  behind  it  was  but  a  country  road,  little  fre- 
quented, and  the  smooth  n'ver  swept  by  silently.  In 
summer  I  could  work  happily  in  a  shady  bower  near 
the  water,  or  find  some  nook  in  the  wild  ravine  behind. 
But  the  garden  seemed  attractive,  even  to  me  who  dis- 
like .gardens,  for  it  was  merely  a  sort  of  very  smooth 
meadow  with  beds  of  flowers  and  clumps  of  trees 
scattered  about  it.  For  physical  health  and  recreation 
there  were  the  river,  one  of  the  loveliest  in  Europe,  and 


4O  A   Great  Disappointment. 

the  noble  hills  with  their  recesses  of  inexhaustible 
beauty.  As  for  convenience,  we  had  Besangon  within 
easy  reach— Besangon  with  its  fine  public  library  and 
museum,  its  good  shops,  and  its  society.  The  rent  of 
the  house  was  moderate,  the  size  of  it  sufficient,  so  fancy 
and  utilitarianism  were  of  one  mind  about  it,  and  it  was 
quite  decided  that  this  should  be  our  future  home.  The 
owner  of  the  property  was  a  noble  lady,  but  she  con- 
fided her  interests  to  a  gentleman  in  Besangon,  whom  I 
saw.  There  appeared  to  be  no  difficulty  whatever,  we 
could  have  immediate  possession,  "nevertheless,"  said 
the  lady's  representative,  "  I  think  I  should  like  to  con- 
sult the  owner  herself,  and  get  her  answer  before  giving 
up  the  keys ;  it  is  just  possible  that  she  rriay  have 
changed  her  mind."  On  being  consulted,  the  lady 
began  to  hesitate,  thinking  that  possibly  at  some 
vaguely  future  time  it  might  be  pleasant  to  her  to  have 
the  place  for  little  summer  excursions.  During  the 
next  two  days  her  hesitation  increased,  and  the  end 
of  it  was  that  she  decided  not  to  let. 

Here  was  a  vexatious  ending  to  our  quest!  the 
annoyance  was  that  the  house  so  exactly  suited  us,  and 
(now  that  we  could  not  have  it)  seemed  more  beautiful 
and  more  desirable  than  ever.  We  had  fixed  our  home 
there,  mentally,  already.  Imagination  had  outstripped 
the  slow  advance  of  time,  and  had  already  taken 
possession,  with  her  furniture  in  the  rooms  and  ,the 
keys  in  her  pocket.  And  now,  poor  disappointed 
Imagination  had  to  be  turned  out.  The  consequence 
was  that  we  took  a  sudden  disgust  to  the  whole  neigh- 
bourhood, and  quitted  it.  Ever  since  then  we  have 


General  Discouragement.  41 

reverted  with  a  regretful  feeling  to  that  house  by  the 
beautiful  river  ;  but  consolation  came  at  last,  in  the  war- 
time. That  lovely  valley  was  not  a  pleasant  residence 
for  anybody  in  the  winter  of  1870.  Between  the 
fortresses  of  Belfort  and  Besangon — one  of  them  in  the 
heat  and  fury  of  conflict,  the  other  with  guns  shotted 
and  gates  closed,  expecting  the  enemy  daily — a  country 
house  was  very  like  a  little  yacht  that  finds  itself  by 
ill-luck  in  the  midst  of  a  naval  engagement — with  the 
difference  that  the  yacht  can  move,  and  the  house  is 
unfortunately  a  fixture. 

.  These  three  tours  on  the  Rhone,  the  Sa6ne,  and  the 
Doubs  (I  omit  the  wine  district,  as  that  did  not  suit  us 
from  the  first)  had  left  a  general  impression  of  dis- 
couragement. During  all  our  wanderings  we  had  only 
found  two  habitations  that  suited  us,  and  only  one  that 
suited  us  in  all  respects.  It  is  so  difficult  to  combine 
several  different  conditions,  especially  when  one  of  them 
is  moderation  in  expenditure!  The  critical  reader  may 
think  that  we  were  difficult  to  please ;  but  it  was  not 
much  a  question  of  pleasure,  we  wished  to  combine  the 
convenience  of  practical  life  with  convenience  for  the 
studies  of  a  landscape-painter ;  and  nobody  who  has 
not  tried  it  knows  the  difficulty  of  such  a  combination. 
Most  places  which  seem  pretty  at  first  sight  are  sure 
to  be  exhausted  in  one  summer.  It  is  true  that  a  land- 
scape-painter may  live  anywhere  ;  he  may  live  even  in 
the  heart  of  London  or  Paris,  and  work  always  from 
sketches  taken  during  his  excursions — many  do  so,  and 
paint  very  good  pictures ;  yet,  even  when  you  do  not 
care  to  paint  directly  from  nature,  it  is  an  immense  con- 


42  The  Study  of  Painting. 

venience  to  have  good  and  abundant  natural  material 
within  your  reach  for  immediate  reference.  It  is  like 
the  convenience  of  living  near  the  British  Museum  for 
a  student  of  history.  He  does  not  wish  to  copy  the 
books  word  for  word,  but  he  likes  to  be  able  to  refer  to 
them  whenever  his  work  requires.  And  here  it  may 
not  be  out  of  place  to  say  something  about  the  value 
and  utility  of  a  neighbourhood  as  a  book  of  reference 
for  a  landscape-painter.  When  once  he  has  learned  the 
art  of  using  nature,  he  is  no  longer  bound  down  to  the 
unintelligent  copyism  of  the  scene  before  him,  but 
acquires  the  power  of  extracting  the  knowledge  which 
he  needs  from  material  which  does  not  show  it  obviously 
on  the  surface.  I  can  make  this  clearer  by  an  example. 
Suppose  the  case  of  a  painter  of  Venetian  subjects, 
obliged  by  circumstances  to  live,  let  us  say,  in  Lanca- 
shire. There  is  no  town  in  Lancashire  with  the  peculiar 
beauty  of  Venice,  and  it  may  be  thought  that  our 
painter,  amongst  the  unlovely  seats  of  the  cotton  manu- 
facture, would  find  no  material  for  study  which  could 
possibly  strengthen  him  in  his  art.  Yet  a  clever  artist, 
so  situated,  would  be  able  to  get  very  much  help  and 
teaching  out  of  the  Leeds  and  Liverpool  canal,  with  the 
factories  on  its  banks,  and  the  barges  on  its  muddy 
waters.  The  light  strikes  a  factory  or  a  barge  exactly 
as  it  strikes  a  gothic  palace  or  a  gondola,  the  reflections 
of  bridge  and  boat  in  the  canals  of  Lancashire  are 
exactly  the  same  as  those  in  the  equally  impure  canals 
of  Venice,  and  there  is  not  a  town  in  Lancashire  so 
ugly  that  a  painter  might  not  acquire  much  knowledge 
of  Venice  there,  provided  only  that  a  canal  passed 


Nature  as  a  Book  of  Reference.  43 

through  the  middle  of  it.  It  would  be  easy  to  give 
many  other  illustrative  examples,  but  this  one  is  enough 
to  show  how  material,  apparently  most  different  from 
that  which  an  artist  is  actually  painting,  may  be  full 
of  instruction  for  him  if  he  has  the  opportunity  of  con- 
stantly referring  to  it.  And  this  is  why  I  like  to  be  so 
situated,  that  I  may  have  easy  access  to  several  different 
things  from  which  knowledge  is  to  be  gained.  A  river 
like  the  Doubs  is  not,  for  me,  one  river  only,  for  it  con- 
tains many  elements  which  are  common  to  all  rivers ; 
one  good  group  of  poplars  can  give  poplar  knowledge 
generally ;  one  fine  old  French  city  can  teach  you 
how  to  paint  other  cities  of  a  like  character,  and  when 
there  are  variations,  you  note  and  remember  them  easily 
if  one  good  type  is  thoroughly  well  known  to  you. 
But  the  difference  between  having  access  to  your 
teachers,  and  being  separated  from  them  by  distances 
involving  long  railway  journeys,  is  the  difference  be- 
tween making  your  reference  and  not  making  it. 


44 


CHAPTER  III. 

Discouragement — We  confide  in  the  assistance  of  a  friend — He 
finds  a  house — We  go  to  look  at  it — Description  of  the  place — 
Geographical  position — Immediate  surroundings — The  neigh- 
bourhood contains  a  little  of  everything — Art  and  antiquities — 
Cultivated  people — Hills  and  valleys — Streams  and  ponds — 
The  flora — Varieties  of  plants  and  climate  at  different  eleva- 
tions— Roads,  ancient  and  modern — The  three  classes  of 
modern  roads — Country  lanes — Hedges — The  char  and  the 
tombereau — Increase  of  vehicles — Rural  circulation. 

IT  being  apparently  impossible  to  find  a  suitable  house, 
the  only  solution  of  the  difficulty  seemed  to  be  the 
camp.  "  Let  us  set  up  the  old  painter's  camp,"  I  said, 
"  in  some  pleasant  valley,  and  hire  a  field  for  it  by  the 
side  of  some  crystal  rivulet,  and  dwell  there  in  perfect 
peace,  far  from  the  haunts  of  men  and  the  vanities  of 
the  world ! " 

But  my  fellow-traveller  cannot  be  brought  to  see  the 
merits  of  tents,  and  does  not  feel  their  poetry.  She 
says  they  are  hot  in  the  sunshine,  and  chilly  when  even- 
ing comes  ;  that  the  canvas  walls  are  always  flapping 
in  the  wind,  and  so  produce  headaches ;  that  the  ground 
is  damp,  even  through  the  floor-cloths  ;  that  creeping 
things  get  in  ;  that  vipers  might  get  in  ;  and  that  the 
meanest  cottage  with  four  stout  walls  and  a  thatched 
roof  is  better  than  the  pavilion  of  an  Indian  prince. 


A  Friend  helps  us.  45 

This  view  of  the  subject  entirely  leaves  out  of  the 
question  the  peculiar  delightfulness  of  camp  life,  the 
ineffable  charm  of  its  near  association  with  nature,  and 
the  healthiness  of  being  so  much  in  the  open  air ;  still 
I  admit  and  confess  that  it  is  the  sound  and  practical 
view,  especially  for  a  reading  and  writing  creature  that 
must  needs  have  a  waggon-load  of  books. 

Another  plan  remained  to  us,  without  relying  upon 
the  camp.  We  were  incompetent  to  find  a  house  for 
ourselves,  so  why  not  entrust  the  task  to  another  ?  A 
friend  of  ours  in  Burgundy  said,  "  Let  me  try  and  find 
a  house  for  you  ; "  then  he  asked  what  we  wanted,  and 
made  a  note  of  it.  The  conditions  seemed  rather 
numerous,  but  they  did  not  daunt  him.  "  You  want  a 
river,  of  course,  being  an  aquatic  Englishman  ;  and  you 
want  a  picturesque  neighbourhood,  being  an  artist ;  then 
you  must  be  not  too  far  from  a  town,  for  supplies — some 
picturesque  old  town  if  possible — and  you  want  a  habit- 
able house,  with  a  sufficient  number  of  rooms,  and  a 
garden,  and  so  on."  All  these  things  being  duly  noted, 
our  friend  actually  got  into  the  train,  travelled  a  long 
distance,  and  came  back  to  us  after  an  absence  of  some 
days.  "  I  have  what  you  want,"  he  said,  and  then  gave 
us  a  description  of  his  discovery. 

We  went  to  see  the  place,  and  after  a  long  journey 
by  rail  and  diligence,  arrived  at  an  ancient  city, 
built  on  a  hill  which  rises  between  a  much  steeper 
hill  and  a  flat  plain.  All  round  the  plain  is  a  circus 
of  hills,  the  highest  of  which  are  about  2,500  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  sea.  and  1.500  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  enclosed  basin.  The  basin  itself  is  about 


46  The  House  is  Found. 

fifteen  miles  in  diameter,  and  appears  very  nearly  circu- 
lar. There  are  some  pretty  estates  in  the  plain  of  about 
two  hundred  acres  each,  and  every  one  of  these  estates 
has  a  house  upon  it,  in  some  cases  with  the  style  of  a 
small  chateau  adorned  with  an  old  tower  (one  of  them 
has  two  such  towers,  with  the  inevitable  pepper-box 
roofs),  but  others,  more  modest,  are  still  habitable 
enough.  It  happened  that  the  most  beautiful  of  these 
estates  belonged  to  a  man  who  lived  at  a  distance,  and, 
consequently,  that  the  house  upon  it  was  uninhabited. 
A  charming  trout-stream  ran  through  the  property,  and 
another  smaller  stream,  derived  from  it,  bounded  the 
garden,  which  was  large  and  shady,  with  broad  walks, 
terraces,  and  bowers,  and  a  wood  of  its  own  with 
winding  paths,  and  rustic  seats  in  nooks  so  retired  that 
nothing  was  to  be  seen  from  them  but  wood  and 
meadow,  and  nothing  heard  but  the  ripple  of  the  swiftly- 
running  clear  rivulet.  The  house  was  like  a  shooting 
or  fishing  lodge,  on  a  small  scale,  but  the  space  in  it  had 
been  economized  to  the  utmost,  and  the  rooms  were 
cleverly  arranged.  There  was  stabling  for  eight  horses 
(much  more  than  we  needed),  and  the  only  inconvenience 
was  that  the  farm  buildings  were  too  near.  The  farm 
was  let  already  to  a  respectable  old  peasant,  so  that  we 
had  no  trouble  with  land,  an  encumbrance  which  I  have 
neither  time  nor  inclination  to  undertake.  Farming  is 
a  noble  and  necessary  work,  but  it  is  not  for  students 
and  artists.  Only  the  farmer  can  farm  profitably,  and 
in  France  he  manages  it  by  incessant  toil  and  a  wonder- 
ful sobriety,  frugality,  self-denial. 

It  was  sweet  to  me  to  be  once  again  in  a  land  of 


Our  Geographical  Position.  47 

hills  and  trout-streams,  and  my  fellow-traveller  approved 
of  the  little  house  ;  so  we  took  it,  on  a  short  lease, 
which  has  been  renewed  since  more  than  once.  After- 
wards we  migrated  to  another  house  on  the  same 
estate,  larger  but  more  prosaic,  and  farther  from  the 
stream. 

Our  geographical  position  was  in  many  respects 
favourable  enough,  though  London  friends  wondered 
that  we  could  live  in  such  an  out-of-the-way  place.  In 
a  single  night  we  could  reach  either  Paris,  or  Lyons,  or 
Geneva.  It  was  possible,  also,  to  dine  quietly  in  the 
evening  at  our  own  house,  and  to  dine  the  next  evening 
in  London.  Since  then  the  Mont  Cenis  tunnel  has  been 
opened,  and  brought  us  very  near  to  Turin,  from  which 
Milan  and  Venice  are  easily  accessible.  With  all  these 
cities  and  their  art-collections  so  near  (if  you  reckon 
distance  by  time),  we  were  not  precisely  in  the  position 
of  emigrants  to  the  antipodes.  The  finest  natural 
scenery  was  also  very  near  to  us.  In  a  single  night  we 
could  arrive  either  amongst  the  mountains  of  Switzer- 
land or  Savoy,  of  the  Jura,  or  of  Auvergne.  For  water, 
a  single  night  would  take  us  either  to  the  lake  of 
Geneva,  the  lake  of  Neuchatel,  or  the  smaller  lakes  of 
Annecy  and  the  Bourget ;  and  in  the  same  space  of 
time,  or  less,  we  could  be  on  the  banks  of  the  Saone  or 
the  Doubs,  the  Rhine,  the  Rhone,  or  the  Loire.  I  think 
that  this  short  list  of  accessible  places  is  enough  to 
prove  that  our  geographical  situation  was  not  injudi- 
ciously chosen.  Certainly  there  is  no  spot  out  of 
Europe  from  which  so  much  that  is  interesting  in  art 
and  nature  can  be  reached  in  atsingle  night ;  and  even 


48  Un  Peu  de  Tout. 


in  Europe  itself,  I  think  that  there  is  hardly  a  place  so 
truly  central,  if  both  art  and  nature  are  to  be  taken  into 
consideration.  There  is  not  an  American  or  colonial 
reader  of  this  book  who  will  not  envy  such  easy  access 
to  what  is  best  in  the  old  world :  and  even  in  Europe 
itself  there  are  many  places  (Berlin,  for  example)  which, 
however  busy  and  populous  they  may  be,  are  much 
more  remote  from  what  is  most  beautiful  and  most 
sublime. 

Let  us  not  forget,  however,  in  choosing  a  house,  that 
the  importance  of  what  is  accessible  increases  enor- 
mously with  its  nearness,  and  that  the  surroundings 
which  chiefly  influence  the  daily  life  and  thought  lie 
within  a  radius  of  twenty  or  thirty  miles.  I  soon  dis- 
covered that  the  neighbourhood  of  our  new  residence 
had  one  very  valuable  characteristic  in  great  perfection, 
namely,  variety.  There  was  nothing  in  it  very  striking 
at  first  sight,  but  we  had  a  little  of  everything.  An 
old  inhabitant,  who  knew  the  country  intimately,  and 
loved  it,  said  to  me,  "  Ce  qui  caractirise  notre  pays,  c  est 
que  nous  avons  un  peu  de  tout"  His  observation  has 
recurred  to  me  a  thousand  times  since  then.  He  had 
precisely  hit  upon  the  secret  charm  of  the  region  which 
makes  it  so  good  for  permanent  residence,  and  at  the 
same  time  so  insignificant  to  the  passing  tourist,  fresh 
from  the  valley  of  Chamouni,  or  from  the  boulevards  of 
Paris.  When  I  think  over  the  great  variety  of  things 
which  may  be  reached  in  a  pony  carriage  in  the  course 
of  a  morning,  I  doubt  whether  any  other  place  I  know 
can  offer  so  many  different  specimens  of  what  is 
interesting.  Hardly  anything  is  transcendently  magni- 


Remains  of  a  Roman  City.  49 

ficent  or  striking,  but  everything  is  just  big  enough  and 
important  enough  to  occupy  the  mind  agreeably.  To 
begin  with  architecture  and  antiquities,  we  can  still 
find  some  fair  specimens  of  Roman  work,  a  temple 
and  two  Roman  gateways,  erect  and  strong  after  their 
eighteen  centuries.  These  are  visible  to  everybody,  and 
so  is  the  Roman  wall,  still  continuous  and  very  strong, 
to  the  west  of  the  city,  with  all  its  towers.  But 
antiquaries,  who  look  to  the  ground  itself,  see  much 
more  than  this.  In  certain  streets  the  huge  stones  of 
the  Roman  pavement  are  still  in  their  places,  and  the 
modern  peasant  drives  his  oxen  over  them,  little  think- 
ing how  long  they  have  been  there  or  what  mighty 
conquerors  laid  them.  The  foundations  of  the  theatre 
and  amphitheatre  are  still  well  above  ground.  Dis- 
coveries of  Roman  work  are  not  infrequent.  One  day 
not  long  since  a  man  deepened  his  cellar,  and  found 
a  great  mosaic  below  which  extended  under  the  ad- 
joining house.  The  city  has,  in  fact,  been  a  mine  of 
Roman  antiquities  for  generations,  which,  instead  of 
being  kept  to  enrich  its  own  museum,  have  been  carried 
off  to  Paris,  or  else  sold  to  the  dealers  in  such  things. 
I  confess,  however,  that  remains  which  deeply  in- 
terest the  antiquary,  are  often  of  little  importance  to 
anybody  else.  It  is  enough  for  most  of  us  to  know 
that  a  Roman  city  has  been  in  such  a  locality.  A  visible 
building  interests  us,  but,  unless  we  have  the  true  anti- 
quarian instinct,  the  tracing  out  of  foundations,  the 
rinding  of  fragments  in  pottery  or  bronze,  do  not  affect 
us  much,  though  we  are  glad  that  some  industrious  and 
observant  person  should  be  there  to  take  notes  for  any 

E 


50  Remains  of  a  Gothic  City. 

light  which  may  be  cast  by  them  on  historical  studies. 
It  is  something,  however,  to  have  great  Roman  walls  and 
gateways,  for  it  is  impossible  to  see  them  without  being 
brought  nearer  to  Caesar's  time,  and  made  to  feel  that  it 
was  a  reality.  As  this  neighbourhood  contains  tin  peu 
de  tout,  we  can  follow  architecture  from  the  genuine 
Roman  work  of  the  gateways  down  through  Roman- 
esque and  Gothic  to  the  Renaissance,  and  so  to  modern 
work,  either  in  the  ancient  city  itself  or  in  the  im- 
mediate neighbourhood.  You  can,  in  fact,  teach  a  boy 
all  the  elements  of  architecture  from  real  examples 
without  going  more  than  a  few  miles.  The  cathedral 
is  a  mixture  of  Romanesque  and  Gothic,  and  has,  I 
believe,  the  most  magnificent  Romanesque  portals  in 
all  France,  besides  one  of  the  most  beautiful  Gothic 
spires.  As  on  the  western  side  of  the  city  the  walls 
and  towers  are  all  pure  Roman  work,  so  on  the 
southern  side  they  are  all  Gothic,  and  as  picturesque 
here  as  the  middle-age  fortifications  of  the  old  Swiss 
cities,  such  as  Fribourg  or  Lucerne.  Amongst  the 
remnants  of  the  middle  ages  there  are  still  some 
substantial  hotels,  and  a  good  many  smaller  houses. 
In  Renaissance  work  there  are  a  church,  a  fountain, 
and  one  or  two  fine  chateaux  in  the  neighbourhood. 
Turning  from  architecture  to  literature  and  painting, 
we  still  find  the  pervading  principle  "a  little  of 
everything."  The  city  possesses  one  masterpiece  of  the 
modern  classical  school,  in  a  kind  of  classicism  which 
leaves  me  perfectly  indifferent,  but  this  picture  is  a  first- 
rate  specimen  of  it.  Then  there  are  a  public  gallery  of 
pictures  and  a  public  library,  neither  of  them  rich,  and 


Cultivated  Inhabitants.  51 

yet  an  agreeable  addition  to  one's  limited  private  pos- 
sessions in  literature  and  art. 

I  shall  have  much  more  to  say  about  the  inhabitants 
in  a  future  chapter ;  but  for  the  present  this  may  be 
noted,  that  as  there  are  a  few  specimens  of  architecture 
and  painting,  so  there  are  a  few  specimens  of  that  very 
rare  bird,  the  cultivated  human  being.  So  far  as  I 
have  been  able  to  ascertain,  there  are  at  least  five  or 
six  of  these  in  the  whole  arrondissement,  which  has  a 
rural  and  urban  population  of  about  eighty  thousand 
souls ;  the  proportion  is  not  large,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, but  it  is  very  nearly  what  I  had  already  observed 
in  the  north  of  England.  Unfortunately  there  is  a 
peculiar  evil  in  the  condition  of  these  eccentrics. 
Each  of  them  studies  something  which  the  five  others 
know  nothing  about,  so  that,  although  he  is  vaguely 
respected  by  them,  he  cannot  talk  to  then:  about  his 
own  pursuit,  and  is  practically  almost  as  mu;h  isolated 
as  if  he  lived  in  the  Arabian  desert.  Happily,  he  can 
get  to  Paris  in  a  night,  and  call  upon  some  fellow- 
labourer  there,  and  so  relieve  his  mind.  Another  cause 
of  separation  between  cultivated  people,  which  operates 
very  strongly  here,  is  difference  of  social  position, 
involving  often  great  difference  in  politics  and  religion. 
We  have  a  bishop,  for  instance,  who  is  a  cultivated 
person  ;  but  how  can  you  talk  reasonably  with  a  man 
who  is  accustomed  to  be  addressed  as  Votre  Grandeur, 
and  to  be  venerated  continually  ?  We  have  also  an 
intensely  proud  nobleman,  who  is  said  to  be  a  really 
consummate  scholar ;  but  no  agreeable  intercourse  is 
possible  with  a  man  who  stares  and  frowns  at  you  if 

£  2 


52  Hills,  Streams,  and  Ponds. 

he  fancies  you  are  not  deferential,  and  who  lives  in 
an  inflamed  state  of  chronic  antagonism  towards  the 
modern  spirit.  All  these  social  matters,  however,  I 
leave  for  fuller  consideration  at  another  time.  It  is 
enough  for  the  present  to  note  that  there  are  cul- 
tivated individuals  in  the  land,  but  not  any  cultivated 
society.  There  is  nothing  exceptional  in  this,  for  in 
the  present  low  state  of  the  general  mind  the  great 
capitals  are  the  only  places  where  you  can  fill  a 
room  with  people  capable  of  talking  well  together 
about  any  important  subject. 

Men  are  always  rather  unsatisfactory  objects  of 
contemplation,  however  interesting,  so  let  us  turn  to 
nature.  '  We  have  no  mountains  here,  but  an  abun- 
dance of  hills,  one  of  which  shall  be  described  later 
in  detail.  The  little  valleys  are  as  beautiful  and  varied 
as  anything  on  that  small  scale  can  be.  Each  valley 
has  its  little  stream,  often  running  clear  and  swift  in 
the  greatest  heats  of  summer,  through  green  meadows 
with  shady  trees.  All  these  streams  fall  into  one 
river,  which  is  a  tributary  of  the  Loire.  The  gene- 
ral character  of  these  watercourses  is  the  same,  they 
are  full  of  good  pools  for  bathing,  and  (except  when 
the  water  is  very  low)  are  navigable  for  a  canoe ; 
they  are  also  rich  in  a  particular  kind  of  beauty,  and 
not  spoiled  in  any  way,  for  even  the  occasional  villages, 
or  watermills,  or  old  chateaux  upon  their  banks,  add 
to  their  interest  and  charm.  There  are  no  lakes  in  the 
country,  but  there  are  a  great  many  ponds,  which  are 
often  just  as  good  as  lakes  for  purposes  of  study. 
One  of  these,  containing  about  two  hundred  acres,  is 


The  Flora.  53 

so  happily  situated  in  the  midst  of  striking  hill-scenery, 
that  it  has  quite  the  character  of  an  English  or  Welsh 
tarn ;  another,  of  nine  hundred  acres,  is  large  enough 
to  give  many  of  the  effects  to  be  studied  on  the  lochs 
of  Scotland,  or  at  least  to  remind  us  of  them  when 
we  have  known  them  intimately  in  former  well-remem- 
bered years.  This  lake  is  surrounded  by  bare  and 
rocky  hills,  and  has  no  trees  near  enough  to  reflect 
themselves  on  its  surface,  but  other  lakes  or  ponds  are 
in  the  richest  woodland. 

Owing  to  the  considerable  height  of  the  region 
above  the  sea,  the  flora  is  that  of  England  and  Scot- 
land. This  may  not  appear  a  matter  of  much  impor- 
tance, but  it  is  wonderful  how  much,  for  an  English- 
man living  abroad,  the  presence  of  the  plants  of  his 
own  country  diminishes  the  feeling  of  exile.  To  me 
the  presence  of  birches,  and  heather,  and  Scotch  firs, 
all  of  which  grow  within  a  hundred  yards  of  my  house, 
is  infinitely  more  welcome  than  would  be  the  state- 
liest palms  or  the  sweetest  bananas.  Whatever  may  be 
the  poetry  of  warmer  countries,  and  of  that  tropical 
vegetation  which  so  delighted  Kingsley  in  the  West 
Indies,  I  would  not  part  with  our  poor  northern  flora 
for  all  the  wealth  and  the  glory  of  it.  Why,  the  old 
English  and  Scottish  poetry  would  lose  half  its  mean- 
ing for  a  reader  severed  from  the  northern  plants  1 
Think  of  the  refrain, — 

"And  the  birk  and  the  broom  blooms  bonnie," 
and  of  this  other, — 

"  As  the  primrose  spreads  so  sweetly ; " 


54  Different  Climates  Accessible. 

and  of  all  the  thousand  allusions  to  the  flora  of  the 
north  which  fill  what  is  most  touching  and  most  tender 
in  our  literature !  And  have  we  not  associations  too 
which  touch  us  more  than  these,  and  lie  much  nearer 
to  our  hearts  ?  It  is  not  the  written  poetry  which 
affects  us  most,  but  the  unwritten  poetry  of  our  own 
youth,  and  mine  is  all  bound  up  with  heather  and  fern, 
and  streams  flowing  under  the  shade  of  alders. 

There  is,  however,  a  peculiar  advantage,  from  the 
botanical  point  of  view,  in  living  so  far  south  as  this. 
We  are  in  the  latitude  of  Bern,  a  latitude  quite  southern 
enough  for  vegetation  not  to  be  found  in  the  north  of 
England.  Being  about  a  thousand  feet  above  the  sea- 
level,  our  flora,  just  here,  is  as  nearly  as  possible  that  of 
Surrey,  but,  on  climbing  a  little  higher  (which  is  easy) 
we  find  ourselves  in  Lancashire  or  in  Scotland.  It  is 
just  as  easy  to  descend  a  few  hundred  feet,  and  then  we 
find  ourselves  in  the  flora  of  the  Swiss  valleys,  amongst 
gigantic  old  chesnuts  ;  a  little  lower  still  and  we  are  in 
the  vineyards  of  central  France.  The  variety  of  climate 
within  a  few  miles  is  so  great  that  we  can  choose 
amongst  these  different  regions  for  a  day's  drive  ;  and  in 
the  spring  we  can  go  three  weeks  backwards  or  three 
weeks  forwards  at  pleasure.  I  once  left  our  garden  in 
May,  and  found  that  up  amongst  the  hills  the  couiitry 
was  still  at  the  beginning  of  April ;  at  the  same  date 
the  plain  of  the  Saone-was  very  nearly  in  our  June. 

People  who  have  always  lived  in  countries  very  well 
provided  with  roads  are  seldom  fully  alive  to  their 
value.  I  found  that  out  some  years  since — not  in 
Lancashire  or  Yorkshire,  of  course,  for  there  the  roads 


Roads.  55 

are  good  and  abundant,  but  in  the  West  Highlands 
where  they  are  few,  narrow,  and  laid  out  by  a  military 
man,  who  had  very  imperfect  ideas  of  what  is  con- 
venient to  a  civil  population.  I  well  remember  hiring 
a  carriage  for  ourselves  and  some  guests  to  make  an 
excursion  in  Argyllshire,  and  being  compelled  to  send 
the  carriage  back  again  because  the  road  was  so  bad 
that  it  turned  out  to  be  useless.  There  are  houses  on 
Lochaweside  which  cannot  be  reached  in  a  carriage, 
and  in  many  of  the  lonelier  parts  of  the  Highlands, 
when  there  is  no  water  communication,  the  glens  are 
accessible  only  to  horsemen,  pedestrians,  and  perhaps 
(if  there  is  a  road  at  all)  to  a  light  strong  two-wheeled 
cart  going  at  a  slow  pace.  This  part  of  France  was 
exactly  in  the  same  condition  within  the  memory  of  the 
elderly  inhabitants,  but  it  happened  most  luckily  that 
just  before  the  railway  system  was  introduced,  the 
Government  (that  of  Louis  Philippe)  was  seized  with 
an  enthusiastic  passion  for  road-making,  which  conferred 
upon  the  land  one  of  the  very  greatest  blessings  of  a 
civilized  country.  Had  this  been  deferred  a  few  years 
longer  the  railways  would  have  been  made  first,  and 
then  the  grand  highways  would  never  have  been  made 
at  all  There  would  have  been  little  narrow  roads  from 
town  to  town,  from  village  to  village,  but  the  railways 
themselves  would  have  suffered  from  the  absence  of  the 
great  feeders,  and  the  country  people  would  have  com- 
municated less  easily  and  frequently  with  the  market 
towns.  The  state  of  the  roads  forty  years  ago  was  such 
that  a  load  of  wood  could  not  be  taken  from  my  house 
to  the  town  in  winter  with  less  than  three  pairs  of  oxen, 


56  The  Ancient  Roads. 

which  dragged  it  by  main  force  through  the  ruts  and 
holes.  To-day,  one  pair  of  oxen  will  take  a  load  of 
wood  six  times  the  distance  easily,  and  the  road  is  so 
broad  that  three  waggons  can  travel  abreast.  There 
still  remain,  in  the  upper  regions  of  the  hills,  perfect 
specimens  of  what  was  understood  by  road-making  in 
the  middle  ages.  These  are  still  used  by  the  peasants 
with  their  carts  drawn  by  oxen — vehicles  so  strong,  and 
animals  so  patient,  that  they  can  be  taken  anywhere. 
In  order  to  understand  what  the  difficulties  of  com- 
munication must  have  been  in  former  times,  one  has 
only  to  travel  a  few  miles  on  one  of  those  ancient 
roads.  I  know  one  of  them  where  it  is  scarcely  pos- 
sible even  to  walk  after  sunset  without  a  lantern.  Ribs 
of  rock  cross  it  frequently,  and  after  passing  each  of 
them  the  cart-wheels  drop  suddenly  from  six  inches  to 
a  foot.  Massive  blocks  of  granite  lie  in  the  way,  un- 
disturbed, and  the  carter  must  steer  his  oxen  amongst 
them  as  he  can.  There  are  holes  full  of  soft  mud  two 
feet  deep,  into  which  the  wheels  sink  to  the  nave,  till 
nothing  but  a  great  effort  can  get  them  out  again.  If 
two  carts  meet,  one  of  them  must  go  into  the  wood  or 
amongst  the  broom  or  heather  to  let  the  other  pass. 
Even  travelling  on  horseback  can  only  be  done  at  a 
slow  pace,  and  with  a  sure-footed  animal  ;  a  rider  who 
wanted  to  go  fast  would  quit  the  road  and  gallop  across 
country,  unless  the  road  led  through  a  forest,  and  then 
there  would  be  no  help  for  him.  Such  were  the  means 
of  communication  before  the  great  road  system  was 
created.  The  feudal  times  knew  nothing  better,  the 
monarchy  of  the  Renaissance  time  created  a  few  great 


Routes  et  Chemins. 


paved  highways,  on  which  lumbering  vehicles  jolted 
along.  The  road  system  at  present  existing  consists  of 
three  distinct  kinds  of  way  —  the  great  highway,  which 
is  called  route  royale,  route  impcriale,  or  route  nationale, 
as  the  government  may  be  royal,  imperial,  or  republican  ; 
the  lesser  highway,  which  is  called  route  dfyartementale  ; 
and,  finally,  the  country  road,  which  is  not  called  a 
route  at  all,  but  only  a  chemin,  chemin  -vicinal,  and  is  to 
a  small  neighbourhood  what  the  route  dfyartementale 
is  to  a  department.  Of  these  three  classes  of  road  the 
first  two  are  thoroughly  well  made  all  over  France,  and 
the  project  is  so  far  completely  realized,  but  the  third 
class,  that  of  the  chemins  vicinaux,  is  not  nearly  so  com- 
plete yet.  Towards  the  end  of  his  reign,  Napoleon  III. 
conceived  the  idea  of  gratifying  the  peasantry  and 
associating  his  own  name  in  their  minds  with  a  net- 
work of  country  roads,  but  he  did  not  remain  long 
enough  on  the  throne  to  carry  the  project  into  execu- 
tion. The  cost  of  the  war  against  Prussia  would  have 
made  plenty  of  country  roads,  but  in  the  present  un- 
intelligent condition  of  the  public  mind  it  is  impossible 
to  get  up  any  national  enthusiasm  for  the  works  of 
peace.  A  nation  will  allow  its  rulers  to  drain  its  purse 
for  the  most  unnecessary  war,  but  it  begrudges  a  tenth 
of  the  expenditure  for  works  of  utility.  Had  Napo- 
leon III.  felt  his  throne  secure,  he  would  have  done 
much  in  the  interior  of  France,  for  he  had  a  liking  for 
great  useful  enterprises,  and  always  strongly  favoured 
their  development  ;  but  he  knew  that  these  could  not 
consolidate  his  dynasty,  and  that  a  successful  contest 
with  Prussia  would  ensure  the  transmission  of  his  crown. 


58  The  Mayor's  Road. 

The  newspapers  laughed  at  the  scheme  of  chemins 
vicinaux,  yet  it  would  be  difficult  to  suggest  any  more 
useful  work,  or  any  work  more  worthy  of  a  government 
which  cares  for  the  general  welfare.  Even  from  the 
financial  point  of  view,  a  government  can  scarcely  find 
a  better  investment  if  you  consider  the  indirect  results, 
the  increase  in  the  value  of  property,  and  the  economy 
of  a  nation's  time.  Such  as  they  are  at  present,  the 
chemins  vicinaux  are  fairly  good  country  lanes,  kept  in 
order  by  the  maire  and  common  council  of  each  little 
commune  on  its  own  account  by  means  of  a  tax  on  the 
inhabitants,  which  may  be  paid  either  in  the  form  of 
labour  or  of  money.  It  may  be  observed,  in  passing, 
that  the  lane  by  which  the  maire  himself  communicates 
with  the  high  road,  is  always  sure  to  be  in  excellent 
condition.  "  What  a  good  road  you  have  ! "  I  said  to 
a  functionary  of  this  description ;  on  which  he  in- 
genuously replied,  "  Vous  savez ;  c'est  le  chemin  du 
maire''  The  objection  to  these  roads  is  not  so  much 
that  they  are  badly  kept  (for  you  may  drive  on  most  of 
them  at  full  trot),  as  that  they  are  not  sufficiently 
numerous  and  not  intelligently  planned,  being  merely 
the  result  of  hap-hazard  engineering  and  old  custom. 
The  consequence  is  that  they  often  take  you  a  great 
round,  and  in  hilly  places  they  are  sometimes  dan- 
gerously steep.  I  remember  one  of  them  which  was 
a  sort  of  shelf  or  ledge  on  the  face  of  a  precipice,  and 
the  road  actually  sloped  to  the  outside,  so  that  the 
sensation  in  driving  over  it  was  always  that  of  consi- 
.derable  peril.  A  few  yards  farther,  the  road  ran  down 
an  excessively  steep  hill  without  any  sort  of  protection, 


Hedges  and  Landscape.  59 


and  at  the  bottom  crossed  a  little  bridge  at  a  right 
angle — a  blunder  for  which  any  road-maker  ought  to 
be  severely  punished,  for  it  is  like  planning  accidents 
beforehand.  On  the  other  hand,  I  may  observe  that, 
when  a  chemin  vicinal  is  planned  by  the  scientific 
engineers  of  the  present  day,  it  is  admirably  well  done. 
I  know  one  such,  in  a  very  steep  and  dangerous  gorge, 
which  is  so  well  laid  out  that  carriage  horses  can  trot 
down  it  all  the  way,  and  take  the  turns  of  the  zigzags 
at  the  same  pace.  It  seems  to  me  now  that  the  only 
great  public  improvement  which  is  needed  in  rural 
France  is  that  the  scheme  of  communal  roads  should 
be  fully  carried  out.  Even  in  its  present  half-satis- 
factory condition  the  country  is  as  well-provided  with 
*anes  as  most  English  counties  that  I  have  visited. 
Nothing  can  be  prettier  than  these  lanes  in  our  neigh- 
bourhood, for  the  growth  of  the  hedges  is  most  luxu- 
riant, so  that  in  spring  they  are  covered  with  flowers, 
and  in  late  autumn  with  berries. 

All  the  fields  in  this  part  of  the  country  are  divided 
by  hedges  as  they  are  in  England  ;  but  however  beauti- 
ful a  hedge  may  sometimes  be  in  itself,  it  is  a  terrible 
spoiler  of  landscape.  In  a  land  divided  in  that  way 
we  can  never  realize  the  beauty  of  the  earth's  surface, 
with  its  delicate  undulations,  or  far-receding  flats.  A 
hedge  eight  feet  high  will  conceal  miles  of  perspective. 
Two  or  three  such  hedges  hide  a  flat  landscape 
completely,  and  ruin  all  the  beauty  of  its  distances. 
The  peculiar  grace  of  the  landscape,  in  many  parts  of 
France,  is  often  visible  only  because  there  are  no  hedges 
to  spoil  it. 


60  Farmers'   Vehicles. 


The  transition  from  roads  to  the  vehicles  which  run 
upon  them  is  a  natural  one,  so  I  may  say  something 
about  them  in  this  place.  In  these  regions  almost  all 
the  heavy  work  is  done  by  large  cream-coloured  oxen, 
only  the  very  poorest  peasants  using  cows  of  a  smaller 
breed.  Horses  are  employed  by  the  farmers  for  speed 
only,  in  light  spring-carts,  and  many  of  them  have  very 
swift  strong  horses  indeed,  which  they  drive  at  a  great 
pace.  The  vehicles  drawn  by  oxen  are  of  two  kinds, 
the  char,  and  the  tombereau.  Both  have  been  used  from 
time  immemorial,  and  are  very  strong  and  simple  in 
construction.  The  four-wheeled  char  is  long  and  narrow, 
with  removable  sides  of  open  rail-work,  inclined  to  each 
other  like  the  sides  of  a  capital  V  when  seen  from  the 
front  or  back.  The  front  wheels  only  turn  a  little  (like 
the  high  wheels  of  an  American  phaeton)  and  soon 
catch  the  side  of  the  waggon  ;  the  two  pairs  of  wheels 
are  held  together  by  no  body  except  a  single  stout  tree 
in  the  middle.  The  tombereau  is  the  two-wheeled  ox- 
cart. All  the  organic  parts  of  it  are  very  strong  and 
heavy,  but  the  removable  sides  are  light  and  open. 
Both  char  and  tombereau  have  immensely  heavy,  square 
poles  (like  beams)  fastened  to  the  wooden-  yoke  which 
lie's  on  the  necks  of  the  oxen  behind  their  horns,  and 
the  yoke  is  fastened  to  the  horns  by  long  leather  straps 
wound  about  them  many  times.  These  vehicles  are 
generally  made  at  the  farms  themselves  by  a  journey- 
man wheelwright  from  wood  grown  on  the  spot,  so  that 
they  cost  very  little.  Not  the  slightest  care  is  taken  of 
them  in  any  way.  They  are  never  painted,  and  never 
even  partially  housed  under  a  shed,  but  are  left  in  the 


Wine  Caravans.  6 1 


farm-yards  exposed  to  the  weather  all  the  year  round, 
so  the  sun  splits  the  wood  in  summer,  and  the  ice  in 
winter  ;  but  a  peasant  argued  with  me  that  it  would  not 
pay  to  build  sheds  for  them,  as  they  are  not  worth  the 
cost  of  preservation.  One  of  the  many  signs,  however, 
of  a  coming  change  in  the  customs  of  the  peasantry  is, 
that  for  some  years  past  the  more  well-to-do  peasants 
have  begun  to  order  their  cliars  and  tombereaux  of  cart- 
wrights  in  the  towns,  who  turn  them  out  with  a  much 
higher  finish  and  give  them  a  coat  of  paint,  so  that  they 
look  worth  preserving.  It  is  interesting  to  see  a  long 
procession  of  ox-carts  going,  let  us  say,  from  the  wine 
district  to  the  hills  of  the  Morvan,  laden  with  great 
casks  full  of  the  cheaper  sorts  of  Burgundy.  The 
drivers,  like  true  Frenchmen,  associate  together  for  the 
sake  of  sociability,  and  have  many  a  pleasant  chat, 
whilst  the  oxen  all  follow  the  first  cart  steadily,  and 
need  no  more  looking  after  than  -the  links  of  the  chain 
that  a  land  surveyor  drags  behind  him  in  the  grass.  In 
the  middle  of  the  day  the  caravan  halts  for  an  hour  or 
two  where  there  is  open  grass  by  the  roadside  and  the 
shade  of  some  old  oak  or  chestnut.  The  drivers  of  wine 
carts  are  never  unprovided  with  gimlets,  so  whilst  the 
oxen,  unyoked,  are  quietly  munching  their  hay,  the  men 
produce  their  gimlets,  pierce  the  casks,  and  drink  freely 
enough  of  the  generous  ruby  fountain  that  springs 
therefrom.  These  wayside  halts  are  often  admirable 
subjects  for  pictures,  especially  on  moonlight  nights  in 
some  wild  place  amongst  the  hills,  under  giant  chestnuts 
centuries  old,  when  the  men  have  lighted  a  fire,  and 
grouped  themselves  about  it  in  their  long  limousin 


t>2  Rapid  Conveyances. 

cloaks,  and  moonlight  and  firelight  play  together  with 
their  contrast  of  cold  and  warm  colour  on  the  creamy 
white  of  the  oxen  and  the  bronzed  complexions  of 
the  men. 

The  chars  and  tombereaux  are  used  for  all  heavy  work 
in  the  country,  and  are  taken  over  the  worst  old  Gaulish 
roads,  which  have  remained  just  what  they  were  two 
thousand  years  ago  ;  and  since  what  will  go  on  a  bad 
road  will  always  go  on  a  better  one,  the  improvement 
in  the  highways  has  not  led  to  any  alteration  in  these 
carts.  The  effects  of  improvement  are  to  be  seen  chiefly 
in  the  rapid  conveyances  used  with  horses,  which  are 
built  in  constantly  increasing  quantities.  Every  farmer 
except  the  poorest  has  his  high-wheeled  spring-cart,  and 
now  the  richer  farmers  are  beginning  to  set  up  hand- 
some four-wheeled  phaetons,  with  coach-builder's  finish. 
The  changes  in  vehicles  are,  however,  closely  bound  up 
with  social  matters  which  we  shall  have  to  study  in  a 
future  chapter;  for  the  present,  it  is  enough  to  note 
that  the  highways  have  themselves  created  much  rural 
circulation,  a  circulation  all  the  more  active  that  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  a  toll-bar. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Country  society,  our  expectations  about  it — Our  metropolitan 
habits — English  and  French  customs  about  calling — Un- 
pleasantness of  the  French  system  to  a  new  comer — We  do 
not  adopt  it — Decline  of  hospitality  in  rural  society — Excep- 
tions to  the  rule — Causes  of  the  decline — Facility  of  former 
hospitality — The  state  dinner — An  open  house — Cultivated 
neighbours — Absence  of  a  cultivated  tone  in  general  society — 
The  ladies — Separation  of  the  sexes — The  neighbourhood 
very  aristocratic — Comparison  with  an  English  neighbourhood 
— Effect  of  the  de  in  France. 

THE  reader  who  is  accustomed  to  think  of  human 
society  as  the  most  important  of  all  considerations  in 
choosing  a  place  of  residence,  will  probably  wonder  at 
me  for  thinking  about  it  so  little,  and  for  attaching  more 
importance  to  a  hill  and  a  trout-stream  than  to  the 
inhabitants  of  the  land.  Kere,  then,  let  me  explain 
what  were  our  feelings  and  expectations  on  the  subject 
of  society,  and  why  we  treated  it  as  a  question  of  no 
importance.  We  had  been  long  since  spoiled  for  true 
provincial  society  by  much  frequentation  of  the  most 
intelligent  people  in  London  and  Paris.  My  wife  was 
born  in  Paris,  and  had  lived  there  in  a  particularly  intel- 
ligent set ;  amongst  people  who  were  either  already 
distinguished  in  some  great  pursuit  (politics,  literature, 
science,  or  art),  or  else  belonged  to  the  active-minded 
class  from  which  distinguished  men  emerge.  I  was  not 


64  Provincial  Society. 

born  in  London,  but  had  lived  quite  long  enough  there 
at  intervals  from  the  age  of  twenty,  amongst  people 
devoted  to  intellectual  or  artistic  pursuits,  to  have 
acquired  metropolitan  ways  of  thinking  about  society, 
and  to  be  pretty  nearly  of  Julian  Fane's  opinion  that 
London  was  the  only  place  in  the  world  (I  would  except 
Paris,  however)  where  one  could  talk  about  anything 
worth  talking  about.  We  had  kept  up  our  old  London 
and  Paris  friendships,  and  in  our  experiences  of  pro- 
vincial life  we  had  always  found  that  the  only  society 
worth  having  was  that  of  people  who  really  belonged 
to  a  metropolis,  though  they  might  pass  much  of  their 
time,  or  even  the  greater  part  of  it,  in  the  country.* 
We  were  therefore,  and  are  still,  in  a  state  of  complete 
indifference  about  genuine  provincial  society  ;  we  had 
not  its  habits  of  thought,  and  although  we  might  use  its 
words,  we  did  not  really  speak  its  language.  Farther 
experience  has  confirmed  this  view  of  the  subject.  It 
is  well  for  any  one  who  studies  something  that  deserves 
to  be  studied,  to  avoid,  if  he  can,  the  two  kindred  vices 
of  self-conceit  and  contempt  for  people  who  study 
nothing  ;  but  it  is  utterly  impossible  for  him  to  shut 
his  eyes  to  the  fact  that  his  pursuits  have  unfitted  him 
for  a  quite  uncultivated  society.  Even  if  he  himself  is 
unaware  of  the  truth,  the  people  who  really  compose  that 
kind  of  society  will  soon  make  him  perceive  that  he  is 

*  This  of  course  refers  to  intercourse  for  improvement  or 
amusement  simply,  and  not  to  intercourse  where  affection  is  con- 
cerned. Affection  is  sufficient  in  itself  and  better  than  anything 
else,  but  it  is  evident  that  affection  is  not  to  be  considered  when 
you  settle  in  a  district  that  is  new  to  you,  and  where  you  have  no 
affections. 


Our  Intentions  about  Society,  65 

not  one  of  themselves.  They  feel  it  and  know  it  if  he 
does  not.  It  is  scarcely  possible  for  him  even  to  say 
that  the  weather  is  fine  without,  in  some  subtle  way, 
making  the  difference  felt ;  and,  if  he  does  not  avoid 
uncultivated  society,  the  result  is  sure  to  be  the  same  in 
the  end,  for  uncultivated  society  will  avoid  him. 

Was  it  our  plan,  then,  to  live  in  utter  solitude  ?  No, 
not  quite  that  either,  but  rather  to  take  thankfully 
whatever  good  and  equal  human  intercourse  might  be 
brought  within  our  reach.  We  had  friends  already 
much  nearer  than  Paris  who  would  come  and  stay 
with  us  ;  others  from  Paris  and  England  would  do  the 
same ;  we  ourselves  were  not  bound  down  to  the  farm 
like  rooted  trees ;  and  then  there  remained  the  chance, 
which  might  be  considered  a  certainty,  that  amongst 
the  surrounding  population  there  would  be  a  few  com- 
panionable beings  whom  we  should  find  out,  by  that 
mysterious  mutual  attraction  which  sooner  or  later 
brings  people  together  when  they  are  able  to  under- 
stand each  other. 

Whatever  is  done  in  England  is  sure  to  be  the  opposite 
of  what  (in  the  same  kind)  is  done  in  France.  Tn  many 
little  customs  this  is  a  matter  of  simple  indifference. 
The  French,  for  example,  when  they  meet  another  car- 
riage in  driving,  take  the  right  side  of  the  road ;  the 
English  take  the  left.  In  this  instance  the  only  im- 
portant matter  is  that  there  should  be  a  rule ;  and  the 
two  rules  are  equally  good.  But  in  ihany  other  things 
the  two  opposite  rules  are  not  equally  good.  For 
example,  if  a  stranger  settles  in  a  new  neighbourhood 
in  England,  the  custom  is  that  the  surrounding  families 

F 


66  An  odious  French  Custom. 

already  established  there,  shall  call  upon  him,  if  they 
think  that  he  ought  to  be  admitted  into  their  society. 
This  seems  to  be  a  very  good  custom,  because  it  saves 
the  stranger  from  all  appearance  of  pushing,  and  at  the 
same  time  preserves  the  established  families  from  the 
unpleasantness  of  having  to  reject  advances.  In  France 
the  custom  is  exactly  the  reverse.  The  new-comer  has 
to  make  all  advances  ;  to  go  and  call  at  all  the  houses 
where  he  would  like  to  be  admitted  ;  to  convey  to  the 
inhabitants  of  these  houses,  as  cleverly  as  he  can,  what 
are  his  claims  upon  their  consideration — that  he  has 
aristocratic  connections,  an  estate,  a  lump  of  money,  or 
some  sort  of  position  or  reputation.  Is  it  possible  to 
imagine  anything  more  odious  to  a  sensitive,  self- 
respecting  person  ?  The  odiousness  of  it  is  much 
increased  by  the  fact,  that  all  claims  except  visible 
wealth,  and  a  fixed,  well-ascertained  title,  are  merely 
local,  and  lose  their  value  when  you  go  into  a  new 
neighbourhood.  The  loss  of  value  is  very  considerable 
a  hundred  miles  from  the  place  where  those  claims  are 
generally  known ;  but  the  transfer  from  England  to 
France  makes  them  evaporate  altogether,  like  ether  in  a 
badly  corked  bottle,  leaving  pure  nothingness  behind. 
Let  us  suppose,  for  example,  the  case  of  an  Englishman 
with  the  title  of  baronet  and  some  really  considerable 
literary  reputation,  a  reputation  equal  to  that  of  our 
present  poet-laureate.  In  England  the  two  things 
would  be  of  great  social  value ;  transfer  them  to  rural 
France,  and  they  are  worthless.  Nobody  in  this  country 
knows  what  a  baronet  is ;  nobody  has  heard  of  Tennyson. 
Or  imagine  the  position  of  one  of  our  great  Lancashire 


First  Calls.  67 

or  Yorkshire  squires,  representing  a  family  which  has  held 
the  same  estate  from  the  dawn  of  English  history,  and  has 
had  its  share  in  the  events  of  seven  centuries,  transferred 
to  some  French  rural  neighbourhood,  and  paying  calls 
on  the  small  counts  and  marquises  round  about ! 
"Who  is  this  man  ?"  they  would  say ;  "he  has  no  title  ; 
c'est  un  roturier,  a  creature  of  ignoble  birth  ;  he  has  not 
the  de"  How  is  the  caller  to  explain  who  and  what 
he  is,  to  sound  his  own  trumpet,  be  his  own  herald  ? 
There  remains,  it  is  true,  the  alternative  of  the  letter  of 
introduction ;  but  this  is  not  always  procurable :  and 
who  would  like  to  go  about  begging  for  people's 
acquaintance  with  a  recommendation  in  his  hand  ? 
We  were  both  quite  of  one  mind  about  this  matter  of 
calling,  and  stayed  quietly  in  our  new  home,  without 
going  from  house  to  house  to  request  the  honour  of 
knowing  the  inhabitants.  Some  time  afterwards  there 
came  a  family  from  Paris,  who  had  inherited  an  estate 
in  the  neighbourhood  ;  and  they,  of  course,  followed  the 
usual  French  custom.  The  lady,  who  dressed  with  the 
greatest  taste,  put  on  her  most  irresistible  toilette,  and  set 
off  with  her  husband  to  all  the  noblemen's  houses  round 
about.  We  did  not  envy  her  that  piece  of  work  ;  and, 
when  we  knew  the  results,  we  were  less  inclined  to  envy 
than  ever.  Some  of  the  personages  did  not  return  the 
visit  at  all ;  others  came  with  a  cool  determination  to 
snub  the  audacious  new-comers  in  their  own  house,  just 
sitting  down  and  getting  up  again  in  the  most  distant 
and  icy  manner.  The  lady  in  question  thought  she 
had  some  claims  to  consideration.  Her  father  had  been 
a  senator,  and  had  bequeathed  a  good  estate,  now 

F  2 


68  Civil  Neighbours. 

divided  amongst  eight  children,  but  her  husband  had 
been  a  wine  merchant  in  Burgundy,  and  his  father  an 
ironmonger,  so  the  stain  of  trade  was  indelible  and 
could  not  be  got  over.  They  stayed  a  year  or  two  ;  but 
we  predicted  they  would  go  back  to  Paris,  and  so  they 
did,  leaving  behind  them  a  charming  new  house  with 
large  and  beautiful  gardens,  all  in  the  best  possible 
order,  and  the  announcement  "  To  be  Let "  on  the 
prettily  gilded  gates. 

For  our  part,  as  we  never  made  any  advances,  we 
never  had  to  submit  to  any  mortifications.  Our  neigh- 
bours even  began,  of  their  own  accord,  to  pay  us  little 
attentions,  which  made  it  necessary  and  right  for  us  to 
call  upon  them  in  acknowledgment.  One  old  squire 
somehow  heard  that  my  wife  was  not  quite  satisfied  with 
the  quantity  of  fruit  she  had  for  preserving  the  first 
year ;  so  he  sent  a  most  polite  note,  to  beg  that  she 
would  use  his  garden  (a  richly  productive  one)  as-  her 
own.  Three  rather  large  landowners  round  about  us 
let  me  know  that,  if  I  wished  to  shoot,  I  was  welcome 
to  do  so  on  their  property.  Finally,  people  began  to 
call  upon  us  in  the  English  fashion,  before  we  had  called 
upon  them.  We  had  our  own  notions  of  self-respect, 
but  we  were  not  wild  animals ;  and  so  it  came  to  pass 
that,  after  a  time,  we  had  as  many  acquaintances  as  we 
had  time  or  inclination  to  cultivate. 

It  will  not  be  out  of  place  to  give  here  a  slight 
general  sketch  of  some  peculiarities  in  this  rural  society 
which  appear  to  be  worth  mentioning.  We  were  struck 
at  the  beginning  by  the  decline  of  easy  hospitality  in 
comparison  with  what  we  knew  to  have  been  the  customs 


Not  much  Hospitality.  69 

of  the  preceding  generation.  People  did  not  seem  to 
ask  each  other  to  dinner  much.  In  England  the  dinner 
invitation  comes  as  a  matter  of  course  when  you  have 
reached  a  certain  degree  of  intimacy,  but  now  in  this 
part  of  France  it  seems  as  if  people  could  get  beyond 
that  degree  of  intimacy  without  ever  sitting  together  at 
the  same  table.  Neighbours  whom  we  came  to  know 
quite  well,  and  who  would  put  themselves  to  much 
trouble  to  oblige  us,  never  invited  us  to  any  kind  of 
feed,  and  declined  when  we  invited  them.  Nor  did 
they  appear  to  receive  each  other  more  except  when  the 
guests  were  near  relations.  There  appeared  to  be  a 
good  deal  of  hospitality  amongst  relations,  but  the 
only  person  outside  of  the  family  who  profited  by  it  in 
these  cases  was  the  curt.  Some  time  later  we  became 
acquainted  with  four  or  five  families  who  in  this  respect 
were  exceptions  to  the  general  rule,  and  very  brilliant 
exceptions  too,  so  it  is  only  just  to  mention  them.  For 
example,  there  is  one  country  house  where,  if  I  present 
myself  towards  evening,  they  are  quite  disappointed  if  I 
do  not  dine  and  stay  all  night,  and  there  is  another 
where,  at  whatever  hour  of  the  day  I  may  happen  to 
arrive,  I  am  expected  to  stay  either  to  dejeuner  or 
dinner.  The  true  explanation  of  these  peculiarities 
has  been  given  me  more  than  once  by  the  inhabitants 
themselves.  In  former  times  everybody  was  hospitable, 
because  it  was  not  the  custom  in  those  days  to  go  much 
beyond  the  ordinary  habits  of  the  house  when  guests 
were  to  be  received — so  little  indeed,  that  no  perceptible 
inconvenience  was  created.  For  example,  instead  of 
the  oil-cloth  which  is  common  on  the  dinner-tables  of 


/O  Old  and  New  Forms  of  Hospitality. 

the  small  squires  and  bourgeoisie,  the  guests  would  be 
honoured  by  the  exhibition  of  a  clean  white  table- 
cloth, a  bottle  or  two  of  good  wine  would  be  brought 
out  of  the  cellar  in  addition  to  the  vin  ordinaire  of 
every-day  life,  perhaps  even  a  bottle  of  champagne,  and 
the  ordinary  dinner  would  be  enriched  by  the  addition 
of  a  single  plat  with,  perhaps,  some  sugary  thing  at 
dessert  besides  the  usual  fruits.  The  housekeeping 
reader  will  see  at  a  glance  that,  although  these  things 
with  a  few  flowers  and  half  a  dozen  candles  are  quite 
enough  to  give  a  festal  appearance,  they  cost  very  little 
money,  and  hardly  any  additional  trouble.  A  lady 
would  be  told  that  there  were  to  be  guests  half  an  hour 
before  dinner  was  served,  and  all  these  things  would  be 
immediately  added  to  the  every-day  meal.  She  had  no 
anxiety  about  results,  she  expected  the  dinner  to  be, 
not  criticized,  but  enjoyed,  and,  as  the  guests  brought 
the  same  happy  temper  to  the  little  feast,  it  always 
passed  off  merrily.  Now  mark  the  lamentable  change ! 
The  absurd  luxury  of  the  Second  Empire,  a  luxury  as 
essentially  vulgar  as  absurd,  introduced  into  the  remotest 
corners  of  rural  France  that  sure  killer  of  true  enjoy- 
ment, the  state  dinner.  Instead  of  making  the  guests' 
dinner  merely  the  habitual  meal  of  the  household,  with 
a  little  addition  of  poetry  in  cookery,  wine,  flowers,  and 
candles,  the  new  system  was  to  upset  all  ordinary 
habits,  in  order  to  imitate  for  a  single  night  the  ruinous 
extravagances  of  Parisian  stock-brokers.  Men  of 
moderate  fortune  then  began  to  hesitate  about  giving 
dinners,  and  ladies  who  had  felt  so  perfectly  comfortable 
and  at  home  under  the  old  rational  system  now  began 


State  Dinners  and  Toilette.  71 

to  feel  all  those  mental  torments  which  vere  so 
humorously  portrayed  by  Hood  in  "  A  Table  of  Errata," 
that  pathetic  and  sympathetic  outpouring  of  the  feelings 
of  a  hostess  which  ends  with  the  stanzas  : — 

"  How  shall  I  get  through  it  ? 
I  never  can  do  it ; 
I'm  quite  looking  to  it 
To  sink  by-and-by. 

u  Oh  !  would  I  were  dead  now, 
Or  up  in  my  bed  now, 
To  cover  my  head  now, 
And  have  a  good  cry  ! " 

People  who  lived  themselves  in  the  richest  country 
for  good  eating  and  drinking  in  all  Europe,  the  vine- 
lands  of  Burgundy,  began  to  think  that  they  were  not 
up  to  the  right  level  of  extravagance  unless  they  had 
half  their  feasts  sent  down  from  Paris  by  the  railway. 
The  dinner,  instead  of  being  a  merry  repast,  became  a 
complicated  solemn  ceremony,  in  which  mysterious 
rites  had  to  be  observed,  and  a  long  series  of  dishes 
exhibited  and  reviewed.  With  the  state  dinner  came 
the  elaboration  of  the  toilette,  as  evils  never  come 
alone,  and  good  honest  wives  of  small  squires  persuaded 
themselves  that  it  was  in  the  interests  of  civilization 
that  they  should  look  like  gravures  de  modes.  Now 
there  may  be  regions  of  society  in  which  the  state 
dinner  is  in  its  right  place.  An  English  duke,  it  may 
be  supposed,  can  hardly  receive  ambassadors  and 
princes  without  submitting  to  the  infliction,  and  con- 
stant practice  may  make  it  endurable  in  his  case,  and 
finally  almost  pleasant ;  but  the  state  dinner,  let  me  be 


72  Absence  of  the  Stupid  Dinner. 

permitted  to  observe  in  serious  earnest,  is  a  monstrous 
evil,  in  our  class  of  society.  It  is  the  destruction  of 
social  intercourse.  It  compels  people  to  live  alone 
because  their  tables  are  not  splendid,  although  the  food 
they  eat  every  day  is  good  enough  for  any  rational 
human  being.  I  need  scarcely  say  that  the  ordinary 
living  of  all  fairly  well-to-do  people  in  Burgundy  is 
abundant  and  varied ;  that  the  cookery  is  excellent,  the 
wine  good  ;  that  peaches,  pears,  melons,  grapes,  apricots, 
and  other  fruits  are  to  be  gathered  fresh  in  their  season, 
sun-ripened  and  mellow,  just  before  they  are  set  upon 
the  table  ;  whilst  the  lady  of  the  house  is  generally 
quite  well  able  to  look  after  every  detail,  and  cook 
everything  herself  if  the  servants  are  not  clever  enough. 

All  these  things  have  been  said  to  me  by  the  people 
themselves  who  suffer  from  the  new  state  of  things,  but 
they  feel  that  it  is  beyond  their  power  to  get  back  to 
the  happier  ancestral  ways.  The  arrival  of  one  cere- 
monious family  in  a  neighbourhood  is  enough  to  break 
up  the  old  easy  hospitality.  It  happens  in  this  way. 
The  new  family  gives  a  state  dinner  and  pays  state 
calls  in  grande  toilette.  Then  the  old  inhabitants  think 
that,  if  they  are  to  give  dinners  at  all  after  that,  they 
must  be  state  dinners  also,  and,  as  this  involves  too. 
much  cost  and  trouble,  they  give  as  few  as  they  possibly 
can. 

There  is,  however,  one  very  familiar  old  English 
institution  which  I  have  not  yet  found  to  exist  in  France, 
I  mean  that  dinner  which  is  not  stately  but  only  stupid 
— that  dinner  where  there  is  nothing  particularly  good 
to  eat,  but  where  a  dismal  silence  prevails,  interrupted 


Old-fashioned  Hospitality.  73 

only  by  fitful  attempts  at  getting  up  a  conversation 
made  desperately  by  the  host  himself,  or  by  some  true 
and  devoted  friend  of  his  who  compassionates  his 
miserable  situation.  It  is  unnecessary  for  me  to  de- 
scribe such  a  dinner  in  detail,  because  every  English 
reader  is  sure  to  have  a  clear  recollection  of  it.  What- 
ever may  be  the  faults  of  the  French,  neither  shyness 
nor  taciturnity  are  of  the  number,  and  when  a  little 
society  is  brought  together  for  festal  purposes  a  spirit 
of  good-natured  loquacious  enjoyment  gets  possession 
of  all  present  which  would  overcome  even  the  timidity 
of  an  Englishman. 

I  know  a  house,  far  up  amongst  the  hills  of  the 
Morvan,  where  the  old  hospitality  is  kept  up  in  the  old 
way,  perhaps  because  it  is  so  far  from  a  town.  There 
the  grand  dinner  is  altogether  unknown,  but  the  table  is 
always  covered  with  good  things  from  the  owner's  farm, 
garden,  or  estate,  and  open  house  is  kept  for  all  comers 
all  the  year  round.  I  have  been  there  to  dinner  or 
dejeuner  more  times  than  it  is  possible  to  remember, 
and  have  hardly  ever  found  myself  to  be  the  only  guest. 
Every  day  there  is  a  little  party  to  dejeuner,  meeting 
there  by  accident  or  invitation,  and  whoever  the  guest 
may  be,  whether  he  be  some  noble  landowner  or  a  poor 
man  without  anything  to  recommend  him  but  his  own 
abilities  and  conduct,  the  host's  warm  kindness  meets 
him  like  a  ray  of  sunshine  on  the  threshold,  and  cares 
for  him  continually  till  his  departure.  I  have  seen 
several  men  who  had  more  or  less  the  true  instinct 
of  hospitality,  but  have  certainly  never  met  with  an 
instance  in  which  the  instinct  was  so  perfectly  sustained 


74  Neighbours  who  had  Studied. 

by  culture  and  developed  into  so  beautiful  an  art. 
There  are  hospitable  men  who  are  glad  to  receive  guests 
and  most  willing  to  give  them  good  things,  but  who, 
either  from  absence  of  mind  or  a  difficulty  in  adapting 
themselves  to  the  feelings  of  different  people,  are  awk- 
ward in  their  attempts  to  make  the  individual  guest  feel 
himself  something  more  than  a  unit  in  a  certain  number. 
There  are  hosts,  too,  who  spoil  everything  by  compelling 
the  guest  to  take  a  share  in  some  amusement  that  bores 
him — by  fixing  him,  for  instance,  to  a  whist-table  when 
he  does  not  care  for  whist,  or  making  him  shoot  when 
he  is  not  a  sportsman.  From  all  such  defects  our 
friend  is  perfectly  free.  The  guest  feels  that  his  com- 
fort and  pleasure  are  incessantly  cared  for,  but  that  his 
liberty  is  respected,  and  not  merely  respected,  but 
approved  in  its  exercise,  and  defended.  The  host  is 
an  ardent  and  successful  sportsman,  and  there  are 
plenty  of  guns  in  the  house  for  those  who  care  to  shoot, 
but  nobody  is  expected  to  shoot  unless  he  likes  it. 

It  would  certainly  be  a  mistake  to  settle  in  any  rural 
district  with  the  hope  of  finding  much  intellectual  cul- 
ture there,  and  I  have  already  very  plainly  said,  at  the 
beginning  of  this  chapter,  how  little  we  expected  or 
hoped  for.  It  turned  out,  however,  that  a  few  of  our 
neighbours  had  studied  something  seriously  at  some 
former  period  of  their  lives,  so  that  there  remained  with 
them  a  residue  from  early  thinking  and  working  which 
never  quite  evaporates.  One  of  them  had  in  early 
manhood  studied  painting  in  Paris  under  Delacroix, 
and  might  have  been  a  good  artist  had  he  not  belonged 
to  a  rich  family,  and  possessed  two  or  three  pretty 


Neighbours  who  had  Studied.  75 

estates  with  all  their  attendant  temptations.  He 
became  a  capital  shot,  but  a  bad  painter.  Still,  he  had 
been  initiated  in  art,  and  whatever  else  he  did  in  the 
course  of  the  year  he  never  missed  the  salon,  but  made 
all  other  engagements  yield  him  a  few  weeks  in  Paris 
during  May  or  June,  where  he  lived  again  in  the  fairy- 
land of  art,  at  least  as  an  intelligent  spectator.  Another 
of  our  neighbours  had  been  an  enthusiastic  ornithologist 
in  former  times,  and  had  a  little  museum  in  his  house, 
which  contained  a  complete  collection  of  all  the  birds 
that  either  breed  in  this  part  of  the  country  or  visit  it. 
Here,  too,  was  something  interesting,  and  it  happened, 
besides,  that  our  ornithologist  had  studied  painting,  pos- 
sessed a  small  library,  and  was  a  friend  to  artists  and 
authors.*  Two  painters,  one  of  whom  is  well  known,  had 
studios  in  the  city,  and  spent  a  part  of  the  year  there, 
bringing  back  Paris  with  them  in  their  thoughts  and 
talk.  Afterwards,  I  found  out  an  excellent  botanist  and 
entomologist,  who  had  a  remarkably  fine  collection,  and 
who  initiated  me  into  the  botany  of  the  neighbourhood 
much  more  rapidly  than  I  could  have  learned  it  without 
the  help  of  a  living  companion.  Then  I  discovered  an 
antiquary  or  two,  one  of  them  a  very  distinguished 
student  of  Gaulish  and  Roman  antiquity,  whose 
acquaintance  the  reader  will  make  more  particularly 
in  other  chapters.  There  are  also  two  good  Greek 
scholars  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  good  Latin  scholars 
are  more  numerous.  One  of  the  latter,  who  is  a  noble 
of  high  degree,  gets  up  very  early  and  works  away 

*  I  shall  have  more  to  say  later  about  our  ornithological  friend, 
who  Lad  many  claims  to  consideration  besides  his  liberal  pursuits. 


76  Two  Classes  of  L  adits. 

energetically  every  morning  at  one  of  the  Latin  authors, 
like  a  student  preparing  for  an  examination.  There  is 
even  a  first-rate  amateur  violinist,  but  he  has  been 
afflicted  for  some  years  past  with  a  morbid  anxiety  to 
hide  his  talents,  and  practises  by  himself  in  a  cellar  with 
the  doors  barred.  What  a  pity  that  a  good  performer 
should  be  so  anxious  to  keep  sweet  sounds  to  himself 
when  so  many  bad  ones  afflict  their  friends  with  endless 
screeching  and  scraping ! 

The  presence  of  a  few  cultivated  individuals  does  not, 
however,  give  a  cultivated  tone  to  society  generally.  It 
is  difficult  ground  to  tread  upon  ;  but,  at  the  risk  of  being 
thought  unchivalrous,  I  shall  venture  upon  the  remark, 
that  if  the  ladies  were  to  read  a  little  more,  conversation 
would  probably  gain  by  it.  Ladies  in  this  part  of  the 
world  are  divided  into  two  distinct  classes :  the  home- 
women  and  the  visiting-women, — les  femmes  d'int/rieur, 
and  les  femmes  du  monde.  It  is  very  difficult  to  unite 
the  two  characters  in  one  person  ;  those  who  pretend  to 
do  so  are  generally  worldly  ladies,  with  an  affectation  of 
homely  qualities.  The  character  which  predominates 
here,  even  amongst  rich  people,  is  the  homely  house- 
keeping character.  Nothing  can  be  more  respectable, 
and  I  hope  to  do  full  justice  to  it  later  ;  but  it  is  difficult 
to  talk  long  with  a  lady  who  thinks  of  nothing  but 
housekeeping,  and  never  reads  anything  but  the  cookery- 
book.  The  housekeeping  provincial  lady  is,  however, 
a  superior  person  to  the  dressy  "femme  du  monde," 
for  she  has  substantial  qualities  which  no  sensible 
person  will  undervalue ;  she  makes  the  lives  of  her 
family  tolerable  on  a  small  income,  and  comfortable  on 


Separation  of  Sexes.  77 

a  very  moderate  one,  so  that,  although  she  may  not  read 
clever  books  or  take  a  share  in  clever  talk,  her  life 
stands  on  a  firm  basis  nevertheless,  and  there  is  compen- 
sation. The  "  femme  du  monde  "  talks  more,  and  has  a 
pretty  external  varnish,  but  she  reads  nothing  except 
the  little  illustrated  weekly  papers  which  depict  the 
changes  of  fashionable  attire,  and  all  that  she  knows  is 
the  current  gossip  of  the  neighbourhood.  If  you  are 
well  posted  up  in  that  gossip,  and  can  take  your  share  in 
it,  a  conversation  may  be  maintained  ;  but,  if  not,  the 
talk  drops  and  the  situation  becomes  painful.  This 
accounts  for  the  separation  of  the  sexes  which  travellers 
have  so  often  remarked  in  France.  There  is  not  any 
acknowledged  custom  which  separates  them,  like  the 
English  custom  of  leaving  the  gentlemen  to  their  wine 
after  dinner  ;  but  a  fatal  influence  collects  all  the  men 
in  one  place  or  group,  and  all  the  women  in  another. 
If  by  chance  a  cultivated  woman  comes  amongst  them, 
she  is  better  appreciated  by  the  other  sex  than  by  her 
own,  and  has  rather  a  difficult  part  to  play  amongst 
ladies.  They  soon  find  out  that  she  is  not  one  of  them- 
selves, and,  although  they  may  not  be  unkind  enough  to 
do  anything  intentionally  to  make  her  feel  it,  she  will 
have  need  of  some  caution  and  dexterity  to  keep  safely 
within  the  very  narrow  limits  of  their  knowledge  ;  and 
we  all  know  how  easy  it  is  to  give  offence  by  the 
unguarded  display  of  anything  like  mental  superiority. 
We  discovered  one  very  superior  woman,  surrounded  by 
the  kind  of  society  which  I  have  just  been  trying  to 
describe,  and  found  her  cautious  in  an  extreme  degree, 
as  if  anxious  to  keep  her  brains  well  hidden.  Such  a 


7 8  The  Neighbourhood  is  Aristocratic. 

life  is  as  unfavourable,  in  one  direction,  as  the  too 
brilliant  existence  of  a  Madame  de  Girardin  in 
another.  In  one  case  the  faculties  of  a  superior 
woman  are  subjected  to  the  incessant  stimulus  of 
unlimited  adulation  ;  in  the  other  they  are  steadily 
repressed. 

It  happens  that  the  neighbourhood  here  is'  singu- 
larly aristocratic.  This  gave  me  a  good  opportunity  for 
comparing  French  with  English  feeling  on  the  subject 
of  caste,  for  I  have  intimately  known  the  neighbourhood 
of  a  town  in  Lancashire  where  the  aristocracy  was  more 
than  usually  strong.  There  can  be  no  reason  why  the 
name  of  that  town  should  be  concealed,  and  it  will  be 
more  convenient  for  the  reader  that  it  should  be  men- 
tioned ;  so  I  will  give  it  here,  not  doubting  that  any  in- 
habitants of  the  place  who  have  lived  long  enough  there 
to  know  it  as  it  was  twenty  or  thirty  years  ago  will  con- 
firm my  description  of  the  old  English  spirit  which 
prevailed  there.  Burnley  is  at  present  known  as  a 
large  manufacturing  town,  and  people  in  the  south  of 
England  have  generally  the  very  erroneous  impression 
that  there  are  no  old  families  in  the  manufacturing 
districts  ;  yet  Burnley  is  almost  surrounded  by  large 
estates  which  belong  to  old  aristocratic  families,  and  on 
several  of  these  estates  there  are  great  country  houses 
such  as  Towneley,  Ormerod,  Huntroyde  and  Gawthorpe, 
whilst  there  are  several  more  within  a  radius  of  a  few 
miles.  Here,  then,  was  an  aristocratic  society  according 
to  our  English  notions  ;  but,  when  I  compare  it  with 
French  aristocratic  society,  I  find  that,  notwithstanding 
all  that  has  been  so  fluently  written  about  the  strength 


Comparison  with  an  English  Neighbourhood.      79 

of  the  caste  spirit  in  England,  and  the  absence  of 
social  distinctions  in  France,  the  genuine  feudal  spirit 
is  stronger  in  this  department  than  in  Lancashire. 
There  is  not  in  Lancashire,  or  there  certainly  was 
not  when  I  lived  there,  any  bitter  hostility  between 
classes,  nor  any  inevitable  political  opposition.  Of  the 
four  houses  mentioned  above,  two  were  liberal  and  two 
conservative,  and  in  the  middle  and  lower  classes  people 
were  liberal  or  conservative,  either  from  fidelity  to  a 
family  tradition  or  else  from  personal  conviction.  Nor 
did  it  always  inevitably  happen  that  people's  religious 
and  political  views  were  fastened  together  inseparably 
according  to  a  conventional  rule.  Some  who  belonged 
to  the  Established  Church  were  liberal,  and  dissenters 
were  not  unfrequently  conservative.  The  gradation, 
too,  from  the  aristocracy  to  the  people  was  one  of 
almost  imperceptible  degrees.  Some  families  belonged 
to  the  aristocracy  and  to  the  middle  class  at  the  same 
time  ;  they  had  intimate  friends  in  both,  and  therefore 
knew  intimately  all  that  passed  in  both.  No  doubt 
public  opinion  settled  everybody's  position  in  a  definite 
way,  but,  notwithstanding  the  English  proverb  "  a  line 
must  be  drawn  somewhere,"  the  division  was  not  an 
impenetrable  wall  of  adamant ;  it  was  a  thin  porous 
partition,  through  which  there  was  a  constant  interchange 
between  the  elements  on  one  side  and  the  other  by  a 
social  endosmosis  and  exosmosis. 

In  France  the  condition  of  things  is  very  different. 
For  a  hundred  years  there  has  been  a  bitter  warfare 
between  classes,  and  to  this  day  the  hostility  continues. 
Much  of  the  evil  is  attributable  to  a  word  of  two  letters — 


8o  Eftect  of  the  Prefix  " de" 

the  little  prefix  de,  which  divides  society  into  two 
camps,  formed  of  those  who  have  the  de  or  have  been 
clever  enough  to  assume  it,  and  of  those  who  have 
it  not.  But  this  is  a  subject  which  deserves  a  chapter 
to  itself. 


Si 


CHAPTER   V 

English  ideas  about  French  people — Importance  of  nobility  in 
France — Social  value  of  the  de — The  self-ennobled — How  a 
woman  became  a  marchioness — Incident  at  a  marriage — How 
false  titles  become  true  ones — Degradation  of  true  nobles  for 
pursuing  honest  trades — Story  of  a  poor  noble — Three  classes 
of  society  in  France — Importance  of  the  de  at  the  period  of 
marriage — Genuineness  or  falseness  of  the  name  a  matter  of 
no  consequence — Instances  of  the  utility  of  the  de  in  marriage 
— How  to  become  noble — Reasons  why  the  true  noblesse  is 
tolerant  of  the  false — Comparison  of  France  with  England — 
Usurpations  of  arms  and  name  in  England — Self-respectinf 
honest  people  in  both  countries — Cases  when  the  de  is  given 
but  not  assumed — Un  milord  malgre"  lui. 

I  AM  sorry  to  begin  this  chapter  with  an  observation 
not  entirely  favourable  to  my  own  countrymen  ;  but,  as 
they  always  take  such  observations  in  good  part  when 
they  are  without  malice,  it  is  probable  that  they  will 
bear  with  me  on  the  present  occasion.  What  excites 
my  wonder  most  about  English  ideas  concerning  French 
people  is,  not  that  they  should  be  inaccurate  (for  ideas 
about  foreign  nations  are  always  inaccurate),  but  that 
they  should  be  on  many  subjects  exactly  the  reverse  of 
the  truth — that  what  is  red  should  be  believed  to  be 
g/een,  and  what  is  purple,  yellow.  The  English  con- 
ception of  French  ladies  is,  that  they  are  incapable  of 
attention  to  household  affairs ;  the  exact  truth  is,  that 
their  minds  are  narrowed  by  a  too  close  and  too  minute 
attention  to  housekeeping.  The  English  believe  that 

6 


82  Social  Value  of  the  "  De" 

nobility  is  of  no  consequence  in  France,  and  that  all 
classes  are  jumbled  together ;  the  exact  truth  is,  that 
nobility  is  much  more  frequently  mentioned  in  French 
conversation  than  in  English,  and  much  more  constantly 
present  in  French  people's  thoughts,  and  that  in  France 
there  is  a  noblesse  as  there  is  in  Germany,  Spain,*  &c., 
whilst  in  England  there  is  not  a  noblesse,  but  only  a 
peerage,  the  descendants  of  which  become  for  the  most 
part  commoners. 

It  is  not  wonderful  that  many  French  people  should 
fraudulently  usurp  the  de,  for  the  social  value  of  it  is 
almost  incalculable.  Happily  the  preposition  0/"has  no 
such  value  in  England  ;  if  it  had,  there  would  be  the 
same  eagerness  to  decorate  names  with  it,  lawfully  or 
unlawfully.  The  strangest  thing  is,  that  it  does  not 
seem  to  make  very  much  difference  whether  the  de  is 
borne  legitimately  or  is  a  fraudulent  and  notorious 
usurpation.  It  is  like  current  coin,  you  are  respected 
for  possessing  it,  whether  you  came  by  it  honestly  or 
not.  When  you  have  boldly  assumed  it,  no  one  can  call 
you  by  your  real  name  after  that  without  a  good  deal  of 
moral  courage,  and  there  is  not  a  Frenchman  alive  who 
would  dare  to  refuse  the  de  to  a  lady  who  had  it  printed 
on  her  visiting-cards.  There  lived  a  certain  lady  who 
had  the  good  fortune  to  inherit  three  or  four  different 
estates  from  wealthy  and  childless  relations,  all  strictly 
in  the  bourgeois  class,  to  which  she  herself  by  birth 
belonged.  These  estates  came  to  her  at  intervals  of  a 

*  Ford  expresses  the  distinction  most  truly  and  pithily  in  his 
"  Handbook:" — "  Senor  de  Mufioz  is  the  appellation  of  a  gentleman. 
Senor  Munoz  that  of  a  nobody  "  That  is  precisely  the  difference. 


The  Self -ennobled.  83 

few  years  for  her  comfort  in  an  early  widowhood,  and 
as  she  was  clever  and  ambitious,  the  increase  of  fortune 
suggested  a  corresponding  improvement  in  rank.  This 
she  very  gradually  effected  by  successive  changes  on 
her  visiting-cards,  without  needing  the  help  of  any 
royal  patent.  She  had  one  of  those  names  which  may 
be  ennobled  by  simple  division,  as  Delacroix  may  be 
turned  into  de  la  Croix;  so  this  was  the  first  step. 
When  this  no  longer  attracted  attention,  she  slipped 
in  a  title,  in  an  abbreviated  form,  but  now  she  prints 
Madame  la  Marquise  in  full.  What  gentleman  would 
refuse  this  consolation  to  a  fashionable,  rich,  and 
interesting  widow,  as  ladylike  as  any  marchioness 
need  be  ?  There  are  not  a  few  false  nobles,  it  is  said, 
within  a  few  miles  of  us,  but  nobody  refuses  them 
the  de  except  the  notary  on  certain  occasions  when  the 
false  signature  is  not  legally  acceptable,  and  then  the 
bearer  of  it  has  to  sign  the  old  plebeian  name  which  his 
simple  fathers  bore.  Even  on  these  occasions,  however, 
he  adds  the  assumed  appellation  in  brackets,  as,  for 
example,  "  Canard,  Jean  (de  la  Canardiere)."  It  is  all 
very  well  when  this  happens  in  private,  between  the 
notary  and  the  pseudo-noble,  but  it  is  unpleasant  when 
there  are  witnesses.  At  a  fashionable  marriage  the 
notary,  a  straightforward  man  who  could  not  endure 
a  sham,  called  out  in  a  loud  voice  to  a  false  noble 
by  that  brief  plebeian  name  so  persistently  laid  aside, 
"Monsieur  Pichot,  ayez  1'obligeance  de  signer  votre 
nom  !  "* 

*  This    incident    really  occurred    within  a  few  miles    of  my 
house,  and  I  could  give  the  real  name  if  it  were  necessary. 

3  2 


84  Degradation  of  True  Nobles. 

The  false  noble,  even  when  he  has  ventured  beyond 
the  de  and  created  himself  viscount,  has  still  some 
grounds  for  hoping  that  his  title  may  ultimately  become 
a  true  one.  Official  recognition  may,  by  a  process  sur- 
passing the  dreams  of  alchemy,  transmute  his  pinchbeck 
into  the  purest  gold.  If  the  Government  of  the  day 
thinks  he  will  be  useful  to  it,  say  in  a  sous-prefecture,  it 
will  not  insult  him  by  withholding  the  assumed  title  in 
the  official  document  which  appoints  him.  After  that 
recognition  he  is  noble.  There  is  always,  too,  the  slow 
but  sure  consecration  of  time  to  be  calculated  upon, 
even  when  official  recognition  does  not  come.  A  false 
title,  steadily  kept  up  for  two  generations,  is  nearly  as 
good  for  social  purposes  as  a  genuine  one.  On  one 
point  all  false  nobles  may  live  without  the  slightest 
anxiety,  there  will  never  be  any  official  exposure  of  their 
assumptions.  There  have  been  threats  of  such  an  ex- 
posure from  time  to  time,  but  no  government,  not  even 
a  Legitimist  government  (for  the  loudest  Legitimists 
in  the  country  are  the  false  nobles)  could  carry  out 
such  an  exposure  without  injuring  its  own  friends. 

All  this  has  been  said  before  by  other  observers,  but 
there  is  a  converse  of  it  which  I  believe  has  not  yet 
been  noticed.  As,  on  the  one  hand,  the  pseudo-noble 
easily  gets  his  assumed  rank  confirmed,  either  officially  or 
by  usage,  when  he  has  a  fair  extent  of  landed  property 
and  a  chateau,  so,  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  a  constant 
process  of  degradation  going  on  by  which  true  nobles 
are  deprived  of  their  nobility.  The  reader  has,  per- 
haps, witnessed  that  most  painful  of  all  ceremonies,  the 
public  degradation  of  an  officer.  His  epaulettes  are  torn 


Story  of  a  Poor  Noble.  85 

off  and  flung  down,  his  gold  lace  and  buttons  ripped  or 
cut  away,  his  sword  taken  from  him  and  broken.  It  is 
pleasanter  to  be  shot  than  to  undergo  such  a  ceremony 
as  that.  But  there  are  degradations  ultimately  quite  as 
effective  which  are  accomplished  silently  and  invisibly. 
A  true  noble  may  have  all  the  known  vices,  he  may 
lead  the  most  worthless  and  the  most  immoral  life,  but 
so  long  as  he  can  keep  up  a  certain  style  of  living, 
either  on  his  own  money  or  other  people's,  his  title  will 
not  be  refused.  The  crime  which  ensures  his  degrada- 
tion is  the  loss  of  external  gentility,  with  an  honest 
effort  to  earn  his  own  bread.  There  are  many  descend- 
ants of  the  true  old  noblesse  who  are  pursuing  humble 
occupations.  They  keep  small  shops;  they  are  joiners, 
saddlers,  or  smiths.  The  joiner  who  works  for  me  is  a 
gentleman  of  ancient  descent,  and  the  fact  is  well  known 
to  the  local  antiquaries,  but  he  does  not  use  the  de. 
This  led  me  to  take  note  of  the  names  borne  by  the 
poor,  and  I  soon  found  amongst  them  names  of  the  true 
old  noble  families,  in  every  instance  shorn  of  the  de. 
I  had  a  good  opportunity  for  observing  this  kind  of 
degradation  actually  taking  place.  I  knew  a  young 
gentleman  whose  great-grandfather  had  been  ennobled 
by  royal  patent,  but  whose  father  had  been  ruined  by  an 
unlucky  attempt  to  increase  his  fortune,  and  had  died, 
leaving  his  young  children  penniless.  My  friend  had 
struggled  bravely  in  the  most  severe  adversity  to  get 
himself  some  education.  He  entered  the  army  as  u 
common  soldier,  but  was  soon  made  sergeant,  and  after 
wards  sergeant-major.  Losing  no  opportunity  of  im- 


86  Story  of  a  Poor  Noble. 

proving  himself,  he  became  a  good  man  of  business, 
with  a  great  deal  of  practical  scientific  knowledge. 
When  I  knew  him  he  was  foreman  of  a  schist  mine, 
and  a  thoroughly  able,  efficient  man,  both  with  head 
and  hands.  He  did  all  the  surveying ;  he  kept  the 
accounts ;  and  he  executed  all  the  finest  and  most 
difficult  smith's  work  himself.  He  spoke  and  wrote 
quite  correctly,  and  had  the  feelings  and  conduct  of  a 
gentleman.  One  thing  he  clung  to  persistently,  he 
would  not  abandon  the  de.  His  friends  observed  this, 
and  were  careful  never  to  miss  it,  but  there  was  a  very 
general  disposition  to  drop  the  de  in  speaking  of  or 
to  him,  and  it  was  very  generally  dropped.  I  well 
remember  how  a  middle-class  man,  recently  enriched, 
sneered  bitterly  about  that  de.  "Depuis  quand  la 
noblesse  va-t-elle  travailler  dans  les  usines  ? "  he 
asked  with  perfect  scorn.  "  A  man  may  be  really 
noble,"  I  answered,  "  and  yet  poor,"  on  which  my 
bourgeois  laughed  and  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Then 
came  the  war,  and  the  poor  nobleman,  though  a 
married  man,  enlisted  voluntarily  as  a  common  soldier. 
He  was  soon  promoted  for  his  merits,  and,  in  the -com- 
paratively short  time  that  the  war  lasted,  he  rose  first 
to  the  rank  of  captain,  and  then  to  that  of  com- 
mandant,* besides  which  he  received  the  cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honour,  for  distinguished  bravery  in  the 

*  In  the  French  army  a  captain  commands  a  company,  as  in 
England ;  a  commandant  commands  a  battalion,  which  is  composed 
of  four  companies  :  there  are  four  battalions  in  a  regiment,  and 
consequently  four  commandants. 


Importance  of  Noblesse.  87 

field.  "Now,"  I  said,  "we  shall  see  whether  les  bourgeois 
will  refuse  the  poor  lad  his  de  !  "  Alas  !  he  never  came 
back  to  enjoy  his  honours  and  receive  our  congratula- 
tions !  He  got  safely  through  that  terrible  retreat  over 
the  snows  of  the  Jura,-  when  Bourbaki's  army  was 
driven  into  Switzerland,  and  after  passing  through  a 
thousand  dangers,  when  we  thought  him  safe  at  last 
with  the  hospitable  Swiss  people,  in  their  happy  neutral 
land,  he  was  struck  down  suddenly  by  an  attack  of 
small-pox,  and  died  of  that  cruel  disease. 

When  first  I  knew  France,  a  good  many  years  ago, 
I  retained  for  some  time  the  prevalent  English  impres- 
sion, that  noblesse  was  no  longer  of  any  importance,  and 
this  idea  was  confirmed  by  one  or  two  French  noble- 
men, who  told  me  so  themselves.  It  did,  indeed,  seem 
that  titles  did  not  signify  very  much  when  people  in 
good  society  dropped  them  in  speaking  to  each  other, 
and  when  the  general  public  so  frequently  omitted 
them  in  speaking  of  titled  people.  Since  then,  how- 
ever, I  have  seen  reason  to  modify  this  first  impres- 
sion. The  old  nobility  tell  you  that  "  il  n'y  a  plus  de 
noblesse  en  France,  la  noblesse  ne  signifie  plus  rien 
aujourd'hui."  But  this  is  simply  a  French  exaggeration 
due  to  regret  for  the  past  and  a  sense  of  diminished 
importance,  as  people  tell  you  they  are  ruined  when 
their  fortunes  are  not  what  they  were  formerly.  No 
doubt  the  importance  of  nobility  is  much  less  than 
it  was  under  the  Legitimist  sovereigns ;  no  doubt,  the 
hope  of  restoring  a  past  lustre  is  the  reason  why  the 
nobility  wanted  a  Legitimist  revival  under  Henri  V. 
But  it  is  not  accurately  true  that  the  noblesse  is  dead, 


88  A  "Beau  Norn"  in  Marriage. 

and  titles  of  no  value.  The  reader  may  remember 
Stuart  Mill's  acute  remark,  "  that  where  there  is  the 
appearance  of  a  difference  there  is  a  difference."  He 
may  also  remember  how  Sir  Arthur  Helps  acknow- 
ledged as  a  philosopher  the  importance  of  honours. 
Now,  a  title,  or  simply  the  de,  is  of  consequence, 
because  it  creates  a  distinction ;  and,  although  the  dis- 
tinction may  not  be  so  important  as  that  between  a 
peer  of  England  and  a  commoner,  it  is  a  distinction 
still.  A  French  title  has  no  political  value,  but  the 
social  difference  between  "  une  famille  noble "  and 
"  une  famille  bourgeoise  "  is  enormous.  You  frequently 
hear  such  expressions  as  "  il  est  noble,"  or  "  il  porte 
un  beau  nom."  There  are  three  distinct  classes,  under 
one  of  which  you  will  be  placed  and  ticketed,  whether 
you  will  or  not :  noblesse,  bourgeoisie,  and  peuple — just 
as,  in  England,  you  must  travel  in  one  definite  class  on 
the  railway. 

The  time  of  life  when  it  becomes  of  most  importance 
to  a  Frenchman  that  his  name  should  be  adorned  with 
the  de  *  is  the  time  when  he  determines  to  marry.  At 
that  period  of  his  life  it  often  enables  him  to  get  a 
rich  heiress,  without  the  least  trouble  on  his  own  part, 
by  the  simple  process  of  requesting  some  third  person 
to  be  ambassador  and  ask  for  her.  The  father  of  the 
young  lady  is  deeply  impressed  when  he  hears  that 

*  It  may  be  well  to  observe  that  there  are  noble  families  which 
have  not  the  de,  so  that  the  "  particule "  (as  it  is  called)  is  not 
essential  to  nobility.  French  people,  however,  almost  universally 
believe  that  it  is  essential,  out  of  pure  ignorance,  and  in  these 
matters  a  general  belief  is  quite  as  good  as  a  fact,  for  rank  is  a 
matter  of  faith  and  not  of  sight. 


A  ''Beau  Nom"  in  Marriage.  89 

such  a  beau  nom  is  offered  to  her.  The  girl  is  called, 
let  us  suppose,  by  one  of  those  mean  and  vulgar  names 
which  are  so  common  in  the  French  bourgeoisie,  and 
the  opportunity  of  changing  it  for  something  sonorous, 
which  proclaims  aristocracy  every  time  it  is  uttered,  is 
an  opportunity  not  to  be  lightly  neglected.  When  a 
young  gentleman  is  called  Monsieur  de  la  Rochctar- 
peienne,  or  Rock-anything-else,  provided  only  that  the 
name  fills  and  satisfies  the  ear  with  a  properly  noble 
cadence,  his  chances  in  the  matrimonial  market  are 
incomparably  superior  to  those  of  the  simple  bourgeois, 
some  .plain  Mangeard  or  Mangematin.  When  I  look 
around  me  and  take  note  of  the  heiresses  and  other 
young  ladies  who  (or  whose  parents}  have,  in  the 
choice  of  a  husband,  nobly  preferred  a  beau  nom  to 
wealth,  I  see  that,  notwithstanding  the  matter-of-fact 
spirit  of  which  the  French  are  so  commonly  accused, 
there  is  a  fine  sense  of  the  romantic  in  them  yet.  Nor 
does  anybody  seem  to  care  in  the  least  about  the 
genuineness  of  the  "  beautiful  name,"  if  only  it  passes 
current.  I  know  every  field  of  a  good  estate 
which  passed,  along  with  the  hand  of  a  very  ladylike 
young  woman,  into  the  possession  of  an  officer,  whose 
family  was  plebeian  a  few  years  ago,  but  boldly 
climbed  into  the  noblesse  by  adorning  itself  with  the 
de.  I  happened  to  be  dining  some  time  since  at  a 
distance,  and  met  two  very  awkward,  underbred,  and 
ignorant  young  men  who  belonged  to  a  "  noble  family  " 
in  their  neighbourhood.  Our  host  said  to  me  privately, 
"  They  are  only  make-believe  nobles,  their  grandfathef 
bore  a  very  plebeian  name,  but  assumed  the  grandly- 


90  Noble  Alliances, 


sounding  one  they  are  known  by  to-day."  Everybody 
in  the  country  confirmed  this,  but  the  grandfather,  who 
seems  to  have  had  a  good  ear  for  the  music  there  is  in 
names,  had  wisely  chosen  a  particularly  imposing  one. 
Now  there  was  a  well-to-do  young  woman,  a  few  miles 
off,  a  young  woman  with  £24,000  ;  so  one  of  the  two 
young  gentlemen  thought  he  might  as  well  have  the 
money,  not  having  much  money  of  his  own,  and 
made  application  accordingly.  He  was  at  once  ac- 
cepted, and  he  would  have  been  as  surely  rejected 
without  the  magic  of  the  nom.  A  gentleman  who 
is  now  dead  had  two  daughters  (no  other  issue), 
and  an  estate  worth  about  £50,000,  besides  which 
one  of  his  daughters  had  £16,000  from  another  re 
lative.  They  were  very  fine  handsome  women,  well 
educated,  and  perfect  ladies,  but  they  were  not  noble, 
and  bore  only  a  plain  short  name.  A  Frenchman  in 
such  a  position  is  almost  sure  to  give  his  daughters  to 
men  having  the  particule,  and  these  two  ladies  were 
ennobled  accordingly  by  marriage.  Another  of  our 
friends,  a  country  squire  in  very  easy  circumstances, 
had  a  very  intelligent  and  beautiful  daughter.  Being 
a  married  man,  I  often  saw  the  young  lady  in  her  own 
home,*  and  thought  that  she  would  be  a  prize  for 
somebody — some  rich  man  most  likely,  with  broad 
lands  au  soleil  and  a  chateau.  We  speculated  some- 
times on  her  destiny,  and  at  last  we  learned  that  she 
had  been  promised  by  her  parents  to  a  poor  clerk  in 
a  bank — a  clerk  earning  sixty  pounds  a  year.  The 
marriage  took  place  in  due  course  ;  but  the  mystery  of 
*  A  young  bachelor  would  not  have  seen  much  of  her. 


How  to  assume  Nobility.  91 

it  was  explained  by  the  young  gentleman's  name, 
which  had  the  true  ring  of  nobility — indeed  a  novelist 
could  not  have  invented  a  more  high-sounding  one. 

The  most  convenient  and  simple  way  of  assu/ning 
the  particule,  when  it  does  not  belong  to  you,  is  ihis. 
You  buy  a  little  property  somewhere  in  the  country 
which  has  some  old  and  romantic  name — there  are 
thousands  of  such  properties  in  so  old  a  country  as 
France.  Let  us  suppose,  for  example,  that  the  name  of 
the  property  is  Roulongeau.  Here  I  may  mention  a 
real  instance,  as  an  example  of  how  the  thing  may  be 
done.  A  friend  of  mine,  a  notary,  came  into  possession  of 
a  ruined  castle,  which  we  will  call  Roulongeau,  and  which 
was  handed  over  to  him  in  payment  of  a  bad  debt.  Here 
was  a  capital  opportunity  for  self-promotion  into  the 
ranks  of  the  nobility.  The  notary  was  too  honest  and 
self-respecting  a  man  to  avail  himself  of  it,  but  what  he 
might  have  done  very  easily  is  this, — he  might  have 
begun  in  the  usual  way  by  signing  himself  by  his  old 
name,  with  the  territorial  designation  in  brackets  after  it, 
thus  :— Machin  (de  Roulongeaii),  which  has  quite  a  modest 
appearance,  because  it  only  looks  as  if  this  Machin  wished 
to  distinguish  himself  from  other  Machins,  to  avoid  con- 
fusion. The  reader  sees  how  easy  the  upward  progress 
becomes  when  once  this  first  step  has  been  taken.  The 
brackets  are  dropped  first,  then  Machin  is  abandoned  as 
unnecessary,  and  so  you  have  Monsieur  de  Roulongeau, 
which  sounds  all  the  more  respectable,  that  there  really 
was  such  a  family  in  the  middle  ages.  After  that  a  rich 
marriage  is  easily  arranged,  and  why  not  revive  the  old 
barony  ?  Three  generations  are  enough  to  accomplish 


92  False  Nobles  well  received. 

the  whole  evolution  ;  but  it  needs  some  courage  at  first, 
and  a  steady  persistence  afterwards. 

The  English  reader  is  not  unlikely  to  condemn  the 
false  noblesse  with  great  severity,  and  to  reflect  with 
complacency  that  there  is  no  such  thing  in  England, 
where  truth  is  respected,  and  where  people  would  not 
consent  to  bear  titles  not  their  own.  I  certainly  shall 
not  attempt  to  defend  the  false  noblesse,  for  the  assump- 
tion of  a  false  title  is,  in  plain  English,  a  lie,  and  a  lie 
that  is  repeated  every  time  the  false  nobleman  signs  his 
name  or  presents  his  visiting-card,  whilst  he  acquiesces 
in  a  lie  every  time  that  he  answers  to  his  assumed  title 
when  it  is  given  to  him  by  another.  But  now  let  me 
be  permitted  to  say  something,  not  in  disculpation  of 
all  these  liars,  but  to  show  that  there  is  a  great  deal  of 
ordinary  human  nature  in  their  conduct.  In  the  first 
place,  the  advantages  to  be  reaped  from  the  lie  are  very 
great — they  may  be  incalculably  great ;  and,  in  the  next 
place,  not  only  is  there  very  strong  temptation,  but 
there  are  great  facilities,  as  we  have  seen,  and  there 
is  really  nothing  to  fear  in  the  way  of  evil  consequences. 
There  is  nothing  to  fear  from  any  French  government, 
and  there  is  nothing  to  fear  from  society.  So  far  from 
expelling  the  false  noble  from  human  intercourse,  people 
give  him  a  rich  girl  for  his  wife,  and  are  rather  proud  of 
his  acquaintance.  The  genuine  nobility  hate  him  at  first, 
but  hatred  is  not  more  difficult  to  bear  than  contempt, 
and  before  he  assumed  the  de  he  was  despised  as  a  bour- 
geois and  roturier.  Besides  this,  the  old  families  have  a 
strong  reason  for  recognizing  him  as  soon  as  they  decently 
can ;  and  the  reason  is  this,  the  man  who  assumes  a  title 


A   Comparison  with  England.  93 

engages  himself  thereby  to  be  a  defender  of  orthodox 
opinions.  He  is  sure  to  be  ardently  bien  pensant ;  it  is 
a  part  of  the  character  he  has  to  perform.  He  is  sure 
to  be  a  willing  and  eager  servant  of  Legitimacy  and 
Ultramontanism,  and  to  put  his  time  and  money  at  their 
disposal.  It  would  be  unjust  to  insinuate  that  all, 
the  nobles  who  went  to  fight  for  the  Pope  were  false 
nobles  ;  many  of  them  certainly  belonged  to  well- 
known  ancient  families  ;  but  that  was  just  what  a  young 
pseudo-noble  might  most  wisely  do,  and  (if  courageous 
and  enterprising)  would  be  likely  to  do.  To  embrace 
that  service  in  the  "  holiest  cause  on  earth,"  perhaps  to 
win  the  most  sacred  of  earthly  knighthoods,  was  a  con- 
secration which  would  have  reconciled  all  the  Legitimist 
families  to  the  usurpation  of  a  name. 

After  studying  the  false  noblesse  of  France,  it  is 
interesting  to  turn  to  England  for  comparison.  There 
is  no  false  noblesse  in  England,  but  neither  is  there  a 
true  noblesse  in  the  continental  sense.  The  difference 
between  a  small  political  peerage  and  a  noblesse  is 
infinite,  and  the  external  similarity  is  misleading.  All 
the  sons  of  a  peer  are  legally  commoners  whilst  the 
father  is  alive,  although  they  may  have  courtesy  titles, 
and  the  sons  of  his  younger  sons  have  not  even  courtesy 
titles,  but  lose  their  nobility  altogether.  In  a  country 
where  a  noblesse  really  existed  it  would  not  tolerate  or 
endure  the  idea  that  the  majority  of  its  descendants 
should  be  degraded  to  the  condition  of  roturiers ;  it 
would  distinguish  them  from  the  people  to  the  latest 
generation  as  a  noble  caste.  Now,  if  such  a  caste  existed 
in  England,*as  it  really  does  exist,  not  only  in  France 


94  Unscrupulous  English  Practices. 

but  in  many  other  continental  countries,  would  English 
truthfulness  resist-  the  temptation  to  get  into  it  fraudu- 
lently, if  there  were  every  facility  and  even  encourage- 
ment to  do  so  ?  Consider  that  there  is  nothing  in  the 
world  which  men  prize  so  much  as  social  distinction ; 
they  prize  it  far  more  than  wealth  or  independence, — 
indeed  they  value  wealth  in  most  instances  only  as  a 
step  towards  social  distinction  and  a  means  of  attaining 
it.  There  appear  to  be  few  scruples  of  conscience  in 
England  about  stealing  other  people's  coats-of-arms. 
The  thing  is  done  openly  every  day.  There  are  heraldic 
draughtsmen  and  engravers  who  get  their  living  by 
encouraging  the  practice.  When  there  is  not  the 
faintest  reason  for  supposing  that  the  people  who 
write  to  these  draughtsmen  are  descended  from  some 
ancient  family  of  the  same  name,  they  assume  its  arms 
without  hesitation.  But  not  only  do  English  people 
assume  arms  which  do  not  belong  to  them,  they  even, 
in  these  days,  assume  the  names  of  aristocratic  families 
by  the  simple  process  of  inserting  an  advertisement  in  the 
newspapers  ;  the  arms  follow  as  a  matter  of  course,  and 
the  transformation  is  complete.  The  reader  will  answer 
that,  although  these  practices  are  unhappily  very  common 
in  England,  still  there  are  many  truthful,  self-respecting 
people,  who  would  not  condescend  to  them.  It  is  to  be 
hoped,  indeed,  that  so  there  are ;  but,  in  justice  to  the 
French,  let  me  observe,  that  there  are  also  great 
numbers  of  Frenchmen  who  have  to  resist  the  far 
stronger  temptation  to  assume  the  de,  and  who  do  resist 
it  manfully,  from  a  feeling  of  honour  and  self-respect. 
One  such,  a  friend  of  mine,  when  negotiating  a  matri- 


Persons  Ennobled  involuntarily.  95 

monial  alliance,  was  urged  to  ennoble  himself  in  the 
usual  way  by  taking  the  name  of  his  estate,  but  firmly 
refused  to  do  so,  at  the  risk  of  breaking  off  the  nego- 
tiations. There  is  a  great  deal  of  this  sound,  right 
sentiment  amongst  respectable  middle-class  families, 
who  think  that,  as  their  names  were  good  enough  for 
their  fathers,  they  are  good  enough  for  them. 

Sometimes  people  get  ennobled  in  spite  of  them- 
selves, and  have  to  resist  it.  This  occurs  as  follows : — 
Your  name  is  not  so  generally  known  as  that  of  your 
place  of  residence,  or  else  it  may  be  too  generally 
known.  In  either  case  the  peasantry  will  be  likely 
to  call  you  by  the  name  of  the  estate  you  live  upon, 
putting  the  de  before  it.  This  is  how  the  de  really 
originated  in  the  middle  ages.  As  our  English  name 
is  a  puzzle  to  the  peasantry,  the  market-women  always 
call  my  wife  Madame  de  (the  name  of  the  estate  we 
live  upon)  simply  for  their  own  convenience.  There  are 
two  wealthy  families  in  the  neighbourhood,  which  have 
numerous  descendants  who  by  the  division  of  properties 
have  been  scattered  about  on  different  estates ;  so  the 
easiest  way  of  distinguishing  them  is  to  put  the  name 
of  the  estate  after  the  patronymic,  with  the  de  between  ; 
and  this  is  often  done,  not  by  the  families  themselves, 
but  by  other  people. 

It  may  close  this  chapter  appropriately  to  say  that 
the  author  has  had  to  contend  against  what  others  so 
often  seek.  Much  to  his  irritation,  people  elevated  him 
to  the  peerage  by  bestowing  the  title  of  "  lord."  This 
was  especially  frequent  in  official  communications,  I 
mean  on  papers  which  came  from  the  authorities. 


96  Un  Milord  malgre  lui. 


There  is  something  very  exasperating  in  an  annoyance 
which  is  repeated  year  after  year,  so  at  last  I  got  quite 
out  of  temper  about  my  title,  and  wrote  very  angrily 
to  the  people  who  applied  it.  However,  it  turned  out 
that  they  were  not  very  much  to  blame.  The  title  was 
duly  registered  in  some  official  book  at  the  prefecture, 
how  and  why  I  know  not,  and  so  I  am  a  lord  in  France 
if  not  in  England.  There  is  one  comfort,  however. 
Nobody  hereabouts  thinks  that  lord  means  anything 
in  particular,  so  that  I  have  no  annoyance  to  appre- 
hend in  the  way  of  snobbish  adulation. 


97 


CHAPTER  VI. 

About  money  matters — Big  houses — French  incomes — Examples 
of  moderate  and  more  important  incomes  in  the  author's  own 
neighbourhood — Large  estates — Division  of  estates — How 
families  survive  the  division — Probable  permanence  of  the 
present  French  law  of  inheritance — Small  establishments  in 
great  houses — State  maintained  in  former  times — Romance  of 
the  old  chateaux — Their  influence  on  the  mind — Stuart  Mill's 
experience — Lamartine  and  Chateaubriand — Economy  and 
retirement  in  great  houses — The  bourgeois  temper — Its  favour- 
able side — Skill  of  the  bourgeois  in  finance — His  readiness  to 
sacrifice  time  for  small  gains — Provision  for  families — Example 
of  an  "  avaricious  "  man — The  bourgeois  in  adversity — Two 
examples  known  to  the  author — Heroism  of  the  bourgeois 
temper — Its  bad  effects  in  excess — Meanness  and  self-satis- 
faction. 

As  nobility  was  the  subject  of  the  last  chapter,  it  is  a 
natural  transition  to  talk  of  wealth  in  this.  The  French 
used  to  believe  that  every  Englishman  was  rich,  and 
the  English  believed  that  all  Frenchmen  were  in  a  con- 
dition resembling  beggary.  Neither  view  was  precisely 
accurate.  The  plain  truth  is,  that  very  large  incomes 
are  rare  in  France,  but  that  comfortable  incomes,  enough 
for  a  gentleman  to  live  upon  with  a  little  care  and 
economy,  are  very  common. 

Mr.  Macgregor,  in  the  first  of  his  canoe  voyages, 
observes,  whilst  paddling  in  France,  "  Pleasant  trees  and 
pretty  gardens  are  here  on  every  side  '/a.  plenty,  but 

H 


98  Houses  and  Incomes. 

where  are  the  houses  of  the  gentlemen  of  France,  and 
where  are  the  French  gentlemen  themselves  ? "  The 
answer  to  this  question  is,  that  whether  a  house  is  large 
or  small,  it  is  a  gentleman's  house  if  it  is  occupied  by  a 
gentleman.  The  Rob  Roy  canoe  was  not  a  large  yacht, 
but  there  was  room  in  it  for  one  who  has  always  acted 
like  a  true  gentleman. 

Perhaps,  however,  we  are  using  the  word  in  two 
different  senses.  Perhaps  Mr.  Macgregor  may  have 
used  it  in  the  common  acceptation,  which  is  that  of  a 
man  who  keeps  up  a  large  establishment,  with  from  ten 
to  a  hundred  domestics,  and  everything  else  on  a  great 
scale.  In  this  sense  there  are  not  very  many  gentle- 
men's houses  in  France,  but  there  are  more  good 
incomes  than  a  passing  traveller  would  be  likely  to 
suppose. 

There  is  a  difference  between  French  and  English 
habits  in  estimating  wealth  which  must  be  noticed 
before  we  proceed  farther.  In  England  it  is  thought 
bon  genre  to  speak  of  everything  under  £2,000  a  year 
as  more  or  less  mitigated  poverty ;  and  many  people 
who  have  nothing  like  that  income,  nor  yet  the  faintest 
prospect  of  ever  either  inheriting  it  or  earning  it, 
assume  a  tone  of  contempt  when  speaking  of  the 
moderate  incomes  which  are  reckoned  only  by 
hundreds.  I  remember  meeting  a  German  in  London 
who  lived  in  a  state  of  irritation  on  this  subject.  "  It 
seems  to  be  thought  bad  taste  in  England,"  he  used  to 
say,  "  to  recognize  any  of  the  necessities  of  people  with 
moderate  means,  and  even  the  writers  in  your  periodi- 
cals talk  as  if  they,  and  all  their  readers,  had  £2,000  a 


French  Incomes.  99 


year  each."  In  France  the  idea  of  wealth  begins  with 
the  first  savings,  and  you  meet  sometimes  with  such  a 
phrase  as  "  il  est  riche  de  mille francs  de  rente"  meaning 
that  the  person  in  question  has  an  amount  of  capital 
which  yields  him  £40  a  year  interest.  The  Frenchman 
has  greatly  the  advantage  in  the  mental  enjoyment  of 
a  moderate  fortune.  I  had  an  English  friend  who,  with 
£900  a  year  of  his  own  and  £600  a  year  with  his  wife, 
constantly  talked  of  his  poverty,  and  really  felt  very 
poor  until  that  pitiable  state  of  things  was  remedied  by 
a  large  legacy,  whereas  a  Frenchman  would  have  com- 
pared his  £1,500  a  year  with  nothing,  and  felt  himself 
as  rich  as  a  little  Rothschild. 

Many  people  in  this  neighbourhood  have  from  £500 
to  £1,000  a  year  from  land,  after  all  deductions;  and 
this  represents  a  considerable  capital,  as  land  here 
yields  a  low  interest.  Incomes  of  £2,000  a  year  do 
not  seem  to  be  much  more  uncommon  than  they  would 
be  in  an  English  rural  district  of  the  same  kind.  It 
is  difficult  to  learn  the  exact  truth  about  the  largest 
incomes  in  any  district,  because  they  are  always 
exaggerated  by  popular  report ;  but  the  following 
figures  have  been  given  me  either  by  personal  friends 
of  the  families,  or  else  by  men  of  business  who  knew 
the  stewards  or  lawyers  who  managed  the  estates. 
According  to  these  accounts  one  marquis  had  £7,000 
a  year  a  few  years  ago,  but  has  diminished  it  since  by 
losing  a  million  of  francs  in  a  bad  speculation.  A  certain 
marchioness  has  an  estate  which  formerly  brought  in 
about  the  same  income ;  but  there  have  been  debts, 
which  she  is  steadily  paying  off  by  the  strictest  economy, 

H  2 


IOO  French  Incomes. 


so  that  the  property  will  soon  be  what  it  was  before. 
I  know  a  certain  chateau  which  is  surrounded  by  a  park 
large  enough  to  be  worth  a  clear  £  1,000  a  year  to  its 
owner,  and  that  is  what  it  brings  in ;  there  are  pro 
perties  at  a  distance  bringing  £7,000  a  year  more  to  the 
same  proprietor.  There  is  also  a  family  wealthier  than 
any  of  these,  the  members  of  which,  in  order  to  avoid 
the  inconvenience  of  division  as  long  as  possible,  keep 
all  together  in  a  little  colony,  with  one  very  well-managed 
and  complete  establishment.  A  lawyer  who  lives  not 
far  from  the  chateau  where  this  happy  family  dwell 
when  they  stay  in  these  parts,  and  who  knows  their 
man  of  business,  affirms  that  the  general  family  income 
is  £24,000  a  year,  and,  if  this  is  not  an  exaggeration, 
the  completeness  of  the  establishment  is  accounted 
for.  Besides  these  instances  I  know  two  large  estates 
containing  respectively  seventeen  and  sixty  farms,  but 
do  not  know  precisely  the  income  derived  from  them. 
There  are  also  some  large  industrial  and  commercial 
fortunes  either  in  the  district  or  in  connection  with 
it,  but  it  is  impossible  to  estimate  these  with  any 
accuracy.* 

There  must  be  wealthy  people  in  a  country  where 
families  appear  to  survive  for  generations  the  division 
and  subdivision  of  their  properties.  There  is  a  certain 
family  here  which  has  increased  into  quite  a  clan,  and, 
as  the  descendants  have  multiplied,  the  estate,  of  course, 
has  been  divided.  Yet  they  are  all  well-to-do  people, 

*  The  common  estimates  of  these  industrial  or  commercial 
fortunes  range  from  a  few  thousand  pounds  to  more  than  two  mil- 
lions of  pounds. 


Division  of  Properties.  lol 

every  one  of  them  ;  they  all  have  snug  country  houses, 
they  all  keep  horses  and  carriages.  There  is  another 
family,  not  noble,  of  which  just  the  same  may  be  said. 
However  many  cousins  there  may  be,  they  grow  up 
with  comfort  about  them  as  if  they  had  downy  soft 
pods,  as  beans  have,  made  on  purpose  for  them  by 
the  beneficence  of  nature.  The  condition  of  a  French 
family,  at  this  particular  stage  on  its  road  to  poverty, 
seems  to  be  very  pleasant  and  affectionate,  except 
when  the  sharing  has  not  satisfied  all  its  members. 
They  go  and  shoot  on  the  divided  bits  of  the  ancestral 
estate,  each  as  guest  of  another ;  they  have  a  frequent 
interchange  of  family  hospitality.  The  resources  of  a 
single  estate  seem  to  be  almost  as  multipliable  as 
potatoes.  I  knew  an  old  bachelor,  who  died,  and  after 
his  death  his  land  and  money  were  divided  amongst 
three  families  of  heirs.  All  those  three  families  throve 
happily  on  that  single  fortune  ;  they  dressed  well,  they 
drove  about,  and  were  always  asking  each  other  to 
dinner. 

In  a  hundred  years  the  division  of  properties  will 
have  accomplished  its  work  more  thoroughly,  and 
many  families  which  are  wealthy  to-day  will  have 
become  very  small  proprietors,  and  either  sunk  gradually 
into  the  condition  of  peasants  or  else  into  that  of  shop- 
keepers or  professional  people  in  the  towns.  The  law 
of  division  was  at  the  same  time  the  most  ingenious 
and  the  most  powerful  attack  upon  the  grands  seigneurs 
which  could  possibly  have  been  .devised.  It  made  the 
younger  sons  accomplices  in  the  destruction  of  thei 
house,  and  the  more  willing  accomplices,  that  the  de- 


IO2  Tlie  Great  Lliateaux 

struction  is  not  visible  in  its  full  extent  to  a  single 
generation.  Some  old  families  maintain  themselves 
a  little  longer  by  the  device  of  living  all  together 
under  the  paternal  roof,  but  there  is  clearly  a  limit 
to  family  clubs  of  this  kind.  There  is  not  the  faintest 
chance  of  a  revival  of  primogeniture,  for  it  is  one  of 
those  customs  which,  once  done  away  with,  can  never 
be  artificially  restored.  It  is  the  corner-stone  of  an 
aristocracy,  when  the  aristocracy  is  not  merely  a  caste, 
but  a  body  of  powerful  families — it  has  no  other  raison 
d'etre.  The  great  majority  of  French  people  who  have 
talked  to  me  on  the  subject  are  contented  with  the 
present  state  of  French  law,  which  seems  to  them  just 
to  the  children,  whilst  it  leaves  a  certain  liberty  of  pre- 
ference to  the  father,  who  may  make  the  share  of  one 
of  his  children  larger,  within  fixed  limits. 

I  have  often  wondered  what  will  become  of  the  great 
old  chateaux  when  the  division  of  properties  shall  have 
gone  a  little  farther.  Even  now  they  are  often  out  of 
proportion  to  the  establishment  which  can  be  main- 
tained in  them.  I  know  one,  a  very  extensive  place, 
with  magnificent  stabling  for  forty  horses ;  you  pass 
thirty-six  empty  stalls,  and  find  four  horses  ultimately 
in  a  corner,  the  present  strength  of  the  establishment. 
A  place  of  that  kind  seems  to  call  for  the  old  scenes 
of  hunting  and  hospitality,  when  there  was  a  famous 
stud,  and  a  famous  kennel  too,  and  when  the  guests 
came  in  state-coaches  with  six  horses.  One  of  those 
guests  of  the  great  time,  just  two  hundred  years  ago, 
say,  that  seven  such  coaches-and-six  entered  the  court 
of  the  chateau  together,  and  besides  these  there  were 


The  Great  Chateaux,  103 

five  guests  in  the  house  who  had  coaches-and-six,  but 
had  left  them  at  home — total,  twelve  coaches  and 
seventy-two  horses  had  all  been  present.  The  number 
of  domestics,  too,  was  far  greater  in  those  times  than 
it  is  now.  Every  great  noble  imitated  on  a.  smaller 
scale  the  numerous  personnel  of  the  sovereign.  At  the 
present  day  two  or  three  servants  may  be  found,  by 
seeking,  amongst  the  empty  chambers  of  a  great  house, 
but  it  is  rare  to  meet  with  what  a  rich  Englishman 
would  consider  a  complete  establishment ;  these  changes 
of  custom  give  the  great  chateaux  rather  a  desolate  air, 
so  that  I  have  heard  people  declare  that  they  would 
not  live  in  them,  and  some  are  all  but  abandoned,  the 
family  coming  down  from  their  snug  appartement  or 
detached  house  in  Paris  to  spend  a  month  or  two  in 
the  shooting  season.  Sometimes  you  find  some  quiet 
widow  lady  or  rural-minded  gentleman,  who  lives  in 
one  wing  or  one  tower  of  the  ancestral  residence,  and 
has  the  rest  to  walk  about  in  on  wet  days.  People  who 
like  a  house  to  fit  its  owner  like  a  coat,  and  be  neither 
too  big  nor  too  small,  think  that  there  can  be  no 
comfort  in  one  of  those  great  old  houses,  unless  the 
owner  can  afford  to  keep  it  full  of  people  like  a  public 
inn ;  but  it  always  seems  to  me  that  there  must  be  a 
deep  charm,  for  any  one  romantic  enough  to  feel  it,  in 
the  silence  and  space  of  such  a  dwelling,  when  you  live 
there  with  but  a  few  servants  who  are  far  away  from 
you  in  their  own  quarters.  Our  small  modern  houses 
provide  no  perfect  protection  against  noise ;  we  hear 
something  of  all  the  noises  that  are  made  by  children,  or 
iervants,  or  loud  talkative  people ;  but  how  peaceful 


104          Effect  of  Great  Houses  on  the  Mind. 

are  the  chambers  of  a  vast  old  chateau,  how  easy  to 
choose  amongst  them  some  safe  retreat  for  study !  It 
would  be  delightful,  in  such  a  place,  to  select  one  noble 
room  for  a  studio,  another  for  a  library,  a  smaller  one  in 
some  turret  for  a  sanctum,  a  private  den,  well  defended 
against  noise  and  interruption ;  it  would  help  the 
imagination,  also,  to  have  the  range  of  all  the  other 
rooms  and  corridors.  Stuart  Mill  thought  that  his 
visits  to  Ford  Abbey  were  an  important  circumstance 
in  his  education.  "  Nothing,"  he  says,  "  contributes 
more  to  nourish  elevation  of  sentiments  in  a  people 
than  the  large  and  free  character  of  their  habitations. 
The  middle-age  architecture,  the  baronial  hall,  and  the 
spacious  and  lofty  rooms  of  this  fine  old  place,  so 
unlike  the  mean  and  cramped  externals  of  English 
middle-class  life,  gave  the  sentiment  of  a  larger  and 
freer  existence,  and  were  to  me  a  sort  of  poetic  cultiva- 
tion, aided  also  by  the  character  of  the  grounds  in 
which  the  abbey  stood ;  which  were  riant  and  secluded, 
umbrageous,  and  full  of  the  sound  of  falling  waters."  * 

*  There  cannot  be  a  doubt  that  the  position  of  Lamartine  and 
Chateaubriand,  as  descendants  of  old  noble  families  which  had  not 
yet  parted  with  their  great  ancestral  residences  during  the  youth  of 
those  writers,  was  a  most  important  circumstance  in  their  education, 
and  gave  both  of  them  a  certain  grandeur  in  their  ways  of  estimat- 
ing things,  which  pervaded  their  writings,  and  remained,  to  thi 
end,  most  strongly  opposed  to  the  small-minded  bourgeois  spirit 
From  the  autobiographical  records  which  Lamartine  and  Chateau- 
briand have  left  of  themselves,  it  is  quite  evident  that  the  poetry  of 
the  ancestral  houses  was  strongly  felt  by  them  even  in  their  youth, 
and  remained  as  an  influence  to  the  end.  Had  they  been  born 
simply  as  remoter  descendants  of  the  families  they  belonged  to, 
without  ever  living  in  the  old  houses,  the  effect  would  have  been 
almost  entirely  lost 


Retirement  in  ChAteaux.  105 

This  may  be  a  digression,  but  it  leads  to  something 
closely  connected  with  our  original  subject :  the  decline 
of  wealth  in  an  aristocracy,  when  it  has  not  yet  gone 
too  far,  is  not  without  its  (rather  melancholy)  advantages 
and  compensations.  There  is  a  certain  period  in  the 
decline  of  a  family  by  the  division  of  estates  when  it 
is  disposed  to  retirement  and  a  wise  economy,  nor  is 
any  place  so  good  for  this  as  the  great  old  chateau 
with  its  memories  and  associations.  Such  a  time  is 
assuredly  better  for  the  mind  than  a  time  of  extrava- 
gance and  festivity.  There  is  many  a  great  house  in 
France,  where  the  people  in  possession  are  thinking 
little  of  themselves  and  much  of  the  next  generation, 
where  they  live  soberly  and  quietly,  that  the  old  place 
may  not  be  sold.  And  yet,  with  the  present  law,  the 
old  places  must  be  sold  at  last,  from  the  disproportion 
between  the  big  house  and  the  fraction  of  an  estate. 
I  know  a  family  personally,  the  head  of  which  has 
perhaps  ^3,000  a  year  and  an  ancient  title,  but  he 
has  also  nine  children,  who  will  therefore  have  about 
£300  a  year  each.  The  chateau  will  have  to  be 
sold. 

It  is  not,  however,  the  richest  people  who  contribute 
most  to  the  wealth  of  a  state  ;  and,  although  we  have 
given  the  aristocracy  the  precedence  in  this  chapter,  it 
is  not  they  who  pay  the  taxes,  subscribe  to  the  national 
loans,  and  make  the  railways.  The  thrift  of  the  middle 
classes  is  the  financial  strength  of  France,  a  strength 
which  was  never  fully  understood  till  the  recent  great 
events  revealed  it.  I  shall  have  more  to  say,  later, 
about  the  bourgeois  temper  in  its  unfavourable  aspect. 


lo6  Virtues  of  the  Bourgeoisie, 

It  is,  of  course,  directly  hostile  to  culture  and  to  all 
elevation  of  sentiment,  it  is  our  own  familiar  and  re- 
pulsive English  Philistinism  in  a  far  more  decided  and 
developed  form.  .  Regarded,  however,  as  we  are  regard- 
ing it  at  present,  simply  from  the  financial  point  of 
view,  it  is  admirable.  The  genuine  provincial  bourgeois 
knows  all  about  material  values,  knows  the  cost  of 
everything  he  uses,  follows  the  variations  of  price  in 
eggs  and  butter  with  the  same  keen  interest  which  he 
gives  to  the  financial  column  of  the  newspaper,  under- 
stands— not  superficially  but  thoroughly,  from  top  to 
bottom,  and  all  round — everything  which  can  affect  his 
fortune,  and  sails  towards  material  well-being  as  an 
accomplished  yachtsman  makes  for  the  distant  haven, 
eating  into  the  wind  whenever  he  can  and  never  losing 
the  faintest  breath  of  it  which  may  help  him.  The 
delight  of  his  life  is  in  the  minute  exercise  of  this  skill, 
which  he  has  developed  into  a  delicate  art.  His 
incessant  attention  to  facts  and  laws,  in  regard  to  which 
imagination  is  useful  only  in  so  much  as  it  may  supply 
hints  to  foresight,  gives  him  a  firm  footing  in  life  and 
keeps  him  cool  alike  in  prosperity  and  in  adversity,  if 
by  chance  he  ever  falls  into  adversity,  which  is  not  likely 
to  happen.  We  know  a  family  of  the  kind  which  was 
enriched  by  two  considerable  legacies,  after  having  lived 
very  economically  on  a  small  property  of  their  own ; 
and  we  remarked  that,  instead  of  launching  out  into 
extravagance  when  they  got  richer,  they  became,  if 
possible,  rather  more  careful  than  they  were  before. 
Another  very  important  bourgeois  characteristic  is  the 
readiness  with  which  the  true  bourgeois  will  sacrifice  his 


Working  for  a  small  Increase.  107 

time  and  give  steady  labour  for  a  small  addition  to  his 
income.  I  knew  one  who  had  ^400  or  .£500  a  year 
from  property,  and  whose  only  son  was  a  railway-guard. 
The  idea  of  relinquishing  the  income  derived  from  this 
occupation  did  not  appear  admissible,  and  the  young 
man  was  not  fit  for  anything  else.  I  know  another  who 
has  nearly,  but  not  quite,  the  private  income  mentioned 
above,  and  who  is  a  clerk  in  the  post-office  at  £80  a 
year.  The  ill-paid  teachers  in  the  public  schools  have 
often  private  fortunes  more  or  less  considerable,  and 
yet  submit  to  the  daily  drudgery  of  teaching.  One 
who  is  known  to  me  by  sight  has  £500  a  year  of  his 
own,  and  teaches,  to  earn  £60  or  £80  in  addition.  Any 
one  who  knows  the  French  bourgeoisie  well  must  have 
met  with  many  such  instances.  The  most  remarkable 
case  I  ever  met  with  was  that  of  a  young  man  whose 
mother  could  easily  have  allowed  him  £600  a  year,  and 
who,  I  believe,  did  make  him  a  good  allowance  ;  this 
did  not  prevent  him  from  being  a  clerk  in  the  Court 
of  Accounts  at  Paris,  where  for  small  pay  he  sacrificed 
his  liberty  to  the  most  minutely  wearisome  of  all 
imaginable  drudgery.  On  one  occasion  I  talked  about 
this  to  an  experienced  friend,  who  himself  had  made 
a  handsome  fortune,  and  he  answered,  "One  or  two 
thousand  francs  may  not  be  a  large  sum  of  money  ;  but 
when  such  a  sum  makes  the  difference  between  a 
surplus  and  a  deficit  at  the  year's  end  it  becomes  of 
enormous  importance  and  well  worth  the  sacrifice  of 
liberty."  that  was  a  financier's  statement  of  the  case, 
and  it  contains  a  truth  which  no  reasonable  person  will 
deny ;  but  what  astonishes  me  in  the  French  bourgeoisie 


io8         Respectable  Ambition  of  the  Bourgeois. 

is,  not  that  they  should  accept  ill-paid  clerkships,  &c, 
to  escape  a  deficit,  but  that  they  should  accept  them 
when  there  is  no  reason  to  apprehend  a  deficit.  There 
are  many  instances  in  which  this  is  done  without  the 
slightest  idea  that  there  is  anything  heroic  in  the  sacri- 
fice, purely  in  order  to  put  by  a  dowry  for  a  daughter, 
or  to  give  a  son  a  better  start  in  the  world.  English 
writers  often  sneer  at  the  meanness  of  the  French 
bourgeoisie,  and  certainly  no  English  writer  can  detest 
their  Philistinism  more  heartily  than  does  the  author  of 
this  volume  ;  but  there  is  a  side  to  their  close  looking 
after  money  which  deserves  more  credit  than  it  gets. 
The  first  object  of  their  ambition  is  to  owe  no  man 
anything ;  the  second,  to  make  such  provision  for  their 
families,  that  in  case  of  misfortune  in  health  or  business 
they  may  not  be  cast  naked  upon  the  world.  Surely 
these  are  respectable  purposes ;  surely  it  must  be  a  good 
thing  for  any  nation  when  these  purposes  are  steadily 
kept  in  view  by  the  majority  of  its  inhabitants  !  One 
of  my  bourgeois  friends  talked  to  me  very  frankly  on 
this  subject,  and  said  what  is  worth  repeating,  and  what 
is  not  to  be  denied.  "  All  my  life,"  he  said,  "  I  have  had 
the  reputation  of  being  exceedingly  avaricious,  because 
I  have  been  careful  about  money,  and  have  never  been 
willing  to  let  my  substance  be  squandered  by  idle 
people  for  their  amusement.  Now,  please  consider  how 
far  I  have  deserved  this  reputation  for  avarice.  I  have 
saved  money,  it  is  true  ;  but  it  has  always  been  for  others, 
not  for  my  own  pleasures.  You  know  how  simply  I 
dress  and  live,  and  how  few  indulgences  I  give  myself." 
Here  let  me  observe  that  the  argument  may  be  fairly 


History  of  an  Avaricious  Man.  109 

considered  weak,  for  the  most  avaricious  people  dress 
and  live  the  most  simply.  But  when  my  friend  asserted 
that  he  had  saved  for  others,  it  was  most  true.  He  had 
been  in  his  own  person  a  sort  of  general  insurance 
company  for  the  benefit  of  all  his  relations,  and  of  his 
wife's  relations  too.  He  began  life  with  nothing  ;  when 
he  had  made  money,  one  of  the  first  things  he  did 
was  to  present  a  snug  little  property  to  his  father,  which 
gave  him  a  retreat  for  his  old  age  and  the  means  of 
passing  it  comfortably.  My  friend's  wife,  with  his  hearty 
approval,  made  handsome  yearly  allowances  to  her 
poor  relations.  He  did  the  same  to  other  relations 
besides  his  father.  He  had  two  daughters,  one  of  whom 
married  a  barrister.  A  very  short  time  after  their 
marriage  the  barrister  was  stricken  down  by  paralysis, 
and  so  prevented  from  pursuing  his  profession.  On  this 
the  "  miserly  "  father-in-law  stepped  in,  and  made  him 
an  allowance  of  £400  a  year,  that  the  misfortune  might 
be  less  severe.  Besides  these  aids  to  relations  he  had 
often  assisted  friends  ;  "  but,"  he  said,  "  I  will  not  lend 
money  to  be  spent  in  luxuries.  I  did  so,  foolishly,  once  or 
twice  when  I  was  young,  and  found  it  only  encouraged 
idleness,  so  I  shut  my  purse  to  genteel  applicants  who 
are  anxious  to  keep  up  their  gentility.  If  I  had  not  been 
what  is  called  a  miser,  I  should  have  been  unable  to 
help  my  poor  relations  in  their  need."  A1J  this  was 
true ;  the  "  miserly"  man  had,  in  fact,  been  little  else  than 
a  beautiful  contrivance  of  Providence  for  distributing 
wealth  wisely  to  those  who  needed  it,  and  the  more 
he  gave  the  more  he  prospered,  yet  the  private  house- 
hold expenses  of  himself  and  his  wife  are  still  fixed 


HO  The  Bourgeois  in  Adversity. 

at   £360    a  year,  and  this   includes  ,£60  for  a    little 
tour. 

The  genuine  bourgeois,  uncontaminated  by  aristocratic 
or  artistic  ideas,  invariably  saves  money,  however  poor 
lie  may  be.  If  rich,  he  saves  more  money  ;  if  poor,  he 
saves  less  ;  but  every  year  will  show  a  balance  in  his 
favour  unless  there  has  been  some  great  misfortune. 
Even  under  misfortune  he  will  try  hard  to  balance  doit 
and  avoir,  so  that  there  may  be  a  sou  in  favour  of  avoir 
at  the  year's  end.  .  His  coolness  in  prosperity  is  equalled 
by  another  kind  of  coolness  in  adversity.  He  does  not 
lose  his  wits  and  do  foolish  things,  either  from  the  folly 
of  despair  or  the  intoxication  of  success.  The  genuine 
bourgeois  in  adversity  is  difficult  to  find,  for  if  any 
creature  naturally  avoids  adversity  it  is  he  ;  but  now  and 
then,  in  the  course  of  many  years,  you  may  find  one 
so  situated,  as  you  may  see  a  cat  drop  from  a  tree  into 
a  pond.  I  remember  two  instances,  one  of  a  man  who 
had  lost  his  fortune  in  an  enterprise  which  he  was  not 
qualified  for ;  the  other,  of  a  cashier  of  a  bank  who  lost 
his  sight,  or  nearly  so,  and  could  not  earn  any  salary 
after  that.  The  first  had  a  very  beautiful,  ladylike 
young  wife  and  two  children.  He  got  a  small  clerkship 
in  a  public  office,  and  he  sought  and  found  a  small 
lodging  at  a  rent  of  ten  pounds  a  year.  Here  the 
couple  established  themselves,  and  many  a  pleasant  even- 
ing have  we  passed  with  them.  Of  course  they  had 
no  servant ;  but  the  lady  did  all  the  housework  that  she 
could  do  ;  and  her  husband  helped  her  when  he  came 
back  from  his  office,  and  in  the  early  morning  before  he 
went  there.  Seeing  that,  instead  of  despising  them  for 


The  Bourgeois  in  Adversity.  \  \  I 

their  way  of  life,  we  respected  them  for  their  courage, 
they  received  us  with  perfect  frankness,  and  after  some 
time  they  asked  us  to  dinner.  The  lady  was  an  excel- 
lent cook,  and  as  exquisitely  clean  as  she  was  beautiful, 
so  the  reflection  occurred  to  me,  whilst  she  was  busy 
over  her  bright  pans  and  little  charcoal  fires,  that  we 
were  served  as  rich  people  are  not,  and  that  this  was  the 
true  poetry  of  dining.  But  there  was  not  the  slightest 
extravagance,  even  on  these  occasions,  when  the  tempta- 
tion to  a  momentary  extravagance  was  so  strong  ;  the 
dinner  consisted  of  one  or  two  good  dishes  and  a  salad, 
with  a  bottle  of  drinkable  common  wine  and  a  petit  verre 
after,  this  last  of  common  white  eau  de  vie  du  pays,  a 
cheap  brandy  with  a  flavour  of  its  own  which  some 
people  like  (I  do),  but  which  others  may  excusably  not 
like.  "  We  are  very  poor,"  our  host  said  to  me  one  day, 
"  as  you  see,  but  we  have  one  bit  of  pride  left  to  us  yet. 
We  do  not  owe  a  farthing  to  anybody,  we  pay  our  way 
honestly  month  by  month,  and  at  the  year's  end  the 
balance  will  not  be  against  us."  It  was  probably  in 
consequence  of  this  satisfactory  feeling  that  our  friends 
were  so  cheerful  in  their  narrowed  circumstances.  They 
were  as  merry  as  rich  people  ought  to  be — but  are  not. 

The  bank  cashier  could  not  find  any  other  occupation 
after  losing  his  sight  ;  but  his  wife  had  a  very  small 
property  in  the  country,  with  a  snug  little  house  upon 
it.  Here  they  settled  down,  to  pinch  and  screw  them- 
selves into  solvency.  They  had  this  advantage  in  rustic 
life,  that  they  might  dress  as  badly  as  they  liked,  it  being 
the  French  theory  that,  d  la  campagne,  you  may  wear 
any  old  clothes  which  you  happen  to  possess.  And 


112  The  Bourgeois  in  Adversity. 

they  did  wear  old  clothes,  which  became  very  much 
older  before  they  had  done  their  work  !  During  his  life 
in  the  bank,  the  husband  had  acquired  a  good  deal  of 
financial  knowledge,  so  he  sold  most  of  the  little  pro- 
perty and  invested  in  shares,  changing  his  investments 
very  judiciously  from  time  to  time.  They  declined  all 
invitations,  and  gave  none ;  they  lived  chiefly  on 
potatoes  with  the  skins  on,  roasted  in  hot  wood-ashes  ; 
they  ate  plenty  of  chestnuts,  too,  of  the  cheapest  kind, 
when  they  were  in  season.  Their  breakfast  (the  English 
reader  will  scarcely  believe  this,  but  it  is  a  fact)  consisted 
of  one  small  piece  of  dry  bread  for  each  member  of  the 
family,  including  the  three  children,  and  nothing  to  drink 
to  it.  If  this  is  not  counted  as  a  meal,  they  had  two  meals 
a  day,  with  an  interval  of  seven  hours  between  them,  to 
get  an  appetite  in.  They  fasted  most  religiously  all 
through  Lent,  when  they  ate  lentils,  but  they  did  not 
observe  the  feast  days  with  the  same  devotion.  A  rela- 
tion gave  them  a  rickety  little  old  pony-carriage,  so  they 
bought  a  donkey  to  drag  it,  and  this  was  the  only  extra- 
vagance we  were  ever  able  to  detect.  "  They  will  pull 
through,"  we  said  at  the  beginning  ;  but  after  some  time 
we  said,  "  they  will  save  money ! "  And  not  only  did 
they  make  both  ends  meet,  but  they  actually  contrived 
to  save  dowries  for  their  two  daughters ! 

This  immediate  acceptance  of  the  unpleasant  neces- 
sities of  adversity,  with  the  resolute  determination  to 
rise  out  of  it  by  economy,  are  the  heroic  side  of  the 
bourgeois  temper.  The  true  bourgeois  has  the  courage  to 
say,  "  I  cannot  afford  it,"  and  the  still  higher  courage  to 
refuse  himself  the  social  consideration  which  is  accorded 


Economy  of  the  Botirgeois.  113 

to  a  showy  way  of  living,  in  order  to  provide  with  pru- 
dence for  a  distant  future.  We  ought  to  respect  such  a 
temper  instead  of  treating  it  with  ridicule,  but  unfortu- 
nately it  happens  that  it  is  too  frequently,  almost 
necessarily,  accompanied  by  a  concentration  of  the 
mind  upon  minute  pecuniary  details  which  is  death  to 
ali  its  higher  and  nobler  faculties.  If  it  were  possible  to 
take  the  resolution  to  be  economical  and  have  done 
with  it,  as  we  take  a  third-class  railway  ticket  instead  of 
a  first,  and  think  no  more  of  the  matter,  then  the  mind 
would  be  left  free  to  act  and  to  grow,  but  this  is  not  the 
state  of  the  case.  The  bourgeois  lives  in  a  ceaseless 
striving  to  save  money  in  minutiae,  which  employs  all 
the  energies  of  his  intellect.  His  maxim  is  "  il  riy  a 
pas  de  petites  Economies,"  meaning,  not  that  a  small 
economy  is  useless,  but  that  what  looks  like  a  small 
economy  is  a  great  one.  A  neighbour  saw  me  putting 
markers  into  a  book  that  I  was  reading — little  bits  of 
gummed  paper  which  I  have  by  me  for  the  purpose. 
This  excited  his  curiosity.  "  Who  prepares  these 
gummed  markers  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  prepare  them  my- 
self." "  What,  do  you  buy  gum  at  the  chemist's  ?  why, 
you  might  economise  that  by  keeping  the  gummed  mar- 
gins of  your  sheets  of  postage-stamps."  The  economy 
here  would  be  perhaps  twopence  a  year.*  The  reader  will 
perceive  how  this  incessant  attention  to  small  economies 

*  I  was  obliged,  in  self-defence,  to  enter  into  an  argument  to 
excuse  my  extravagance,  by  showing  that  the  markers  were  only 
gummed  a  little  on  one  end,  and  could  be  written  upon  on  both 
sides,  so  as  to  give  convenient  indications  of  the  contents  of  the 
page,  whereas  the  gummed  stamp-paper  would  only  take  writing 
on  one  side  ;  besides  which,  I  had  not  gummed  stamp-paper  in 
sufficient  quantity  always  at  hand. 

I 


114  Moral  Evil  of  Avarice. 

will  come  in  time  to  absorb  the  whole  mind  of  a  man. 
It  becomes  like  an  induced  disease,  and  as  the  drunkard 
must  have  his  dram,  so  the  saver  is  anxious  every  morn- 
ing until  he  has  prevented  some  outlay,  or  got  some- 
thing for  less  than  its  value.  If  it  stopped  there,  if  it 
stopped  at  the  destruction  of  the  higher  mind,  the  evil 
would  still  be  great ;  but  so  long  as  men  live  honourably 
in  the  lower  mind,  however  poor  and  small  the  objects 
they  live  for,  they  are  only  commonplace,  not  despicable. 
This  evil,  however,  reaches  deeper.  After  starving  the 
intellectual  faculties,  it  withers  the  moral  sense.  Pushed 
to  a  certain  point,  it  overrides  all  considerations  of 
delicacy,  all  obligations  of  kindred,  all  feelings  of  duty 
and  honour.  There  are  many  instances  of  this  in 
Balzac,  instances  which  seem  incredible,  but  I  have 
seen  things  in  real  life  which  are  quite  as  monstrous. 
There  is  a  couple  in  this  department  who,  by  incessant 
efforts  to  over-reach  all  their  relations  in  matters  of 
inheritance  and  money,  have  finally  isolated  themselves 
so  completely,  that  not  one  of  their  relations  will  visit 
them.  To  this  they  seem  perfectly  indifferent.  Their 
line  of  policy  may  have  cut  them  off  from  family  inter- 
course, but  it  has  increased  their  wealth,  and  life  for 
them  has  no  other  object.  Here  lies  the  moral  danger 
of  that  economical  spirit  which  reigns  in  rural  France. 
In  its  excess  it  becomes  capable  of  incredible  mean- 
nesses. It  is  so  ignoble,  so  disgusting,  that  anything 
seems  better,  even  the  foolish  ostentation  of  a  Lamartine, 
playing  the  prince  in  the  East,  or  the  childish  careless- 
ness of  a  Dumas,  incapable  of  retaining  money.  Much 
of  the  mad  extravagance,  or  wild  generosity,  of  the 
cultivated  classes  in  France  is  nothing  but  a  reaction 


Ignoble  Self -satisfaction.  115 

from  the  meanness  which  they  see  so  frequently  that 
they  are  revolted  by  it. 

The  misfortune  is  that  there  does  not  seem  to  be  any- 
thing in  the  laws  of  the  universe  which  can  ever  make 
the  thoroughly  ignoble  person  dissatisfied  with  his  own 
way  of  living.  His  life  is  so  harmonious  in  its  ugliness 
that  the  very  harmony  has  a  certain  charm,  as  it  has  for 
example  in  the  toad,  that  model  of  nature's  good  taste 
in  carrying  out  an  idea  consistently.  He  is  always 
perfectly  contented  with  himself,  which  nobler  people 
never  are,  and  he  meets  with  nothing  to  disturb  his  self- 
satisfaction.  On  the  contrary,  every  day's  experience 
confirms  it.  He  buys  shares,  or  property,  and  perceives 
that,  as  his  investments  increase,  people  treat  him  with 
more  consideration.  The  longer  he  lives,  the  more  does 
he  see  reason  to  congratulate  himself  on  his  entire 
belief  in  money.  All  that  he  wishes  to  have  done 
money  can  do  for  him,  all  that  he  wants  to  procure 
money  can  procure  for  him.  Virtue  !  knowledge  !  what 
do  these  vain  words  mean  ?  His  one  conception  of 
virtue  is  solvency,  and  the  only  knowledge  he  cares  for 
is  the  science  of  getting  rich.  Scholars  and  artists, 
dreamers  of  dreams  they  cannot  realize,  dissatisfied 
with  the  world  as  it  is  and  feeling  their  impotence  to 
make  it  better,  have  higher  aspirations  and  sometimes 
higher  pleasures,  but  they  have  never  his  perfect  as- 
surance. They  are  carried  away  by  their  balloons  in 
the  rarefied  air,  in  directions  not  to  be  foreseen  ;  he  goes 
with  his  feet  on  the  earth  in  the  familiar  dirt  and  mud, 
and  needs  no  mariner's  compass  to  find  out  where  he 
stands. 

I   2 


Tl6 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Manners  and  customs  of  the  rurals — Early  rising — English  break- 
fast unknown — Cafl  au  lait — Abstinence  of  men  in  the 
morning — Le  -vin  blanc — Soup — The  cttjeiiner  a  la  fourchettc 
— Difference  between  hotels  and  private  houses — Ordinary 
habits  in  private  families — Wine — Coffee — Dtjefiner  and  diner 
— Tea  unknown — English  and  continental  opinions  about  tea 
and  dinner — Exercise — Gardening — Shooting — Game  in  our 
neighbourhood — French  sportsmen — Marshal  MacMahon — 
Noble  sports — Wild  boars — Wolves — Deer — Riding  on  horse- 
back— A  reckless  horseman — Pedestrianism — Instances  of 
pedestrian  habits — Simplicity  and  roughness  of  belongings— 
A  change  in  the  direction  of  finish — The  old  freedom  from 
social  pressure  in  expenditure — Instances  of  this  liberty — 
Recent  restriction  of  it — The  French  are  becoming  cossus — 
What  it  is  to  be  cossu—  Reasons  for  regretting  the  old  liberty 
— Few  servants — English  establishments — Smallness  of  French 
establishments —  I  n  stances. 

THE  manners  and  customs  of  country  folks  in  France 
may  interest  the  reader  sufficiently  to  carry  him  through 
a  chapter  on  the  subject.  I  shall  say  nothing  just  now 
about  the  peasantry,  because  they  live  in  a  world  of  their 
own,  with  its  own  uses  and  traditions,  which  must  be 
studied  separately.  The  noblesse  and  bourgeoisie,  on  the 
other  hand,  have  very  similar  customs,  at  least  when 
their  pecuniary  circumstances  are  nearly  alike. 

In  the  country  the  Frenchman  is  generally  an  early 
riser.  A  near  neighbour  of  mine,  seventy-five  years  old, 
invited  me  one  day  to  see  something  in  his  garden  ;  and 


The  English  Breakfast  unknown.  117 

this  led  to  a  comparison  of  our  habits.  "  Of  course  you 
are  an  early  riser,"  I  said  ;  "  all  your  countrymen  are  so, 
except  in  large  towns."  "  No,"  he  answered,  "  I  am  not 
an  early  riser."  "  The  expression  is  very  uncertain,  but 
clocks  are  more  precise  ;  will  you  tell  me  what  are  your 
hours  ?  "  "  Most  willingly;  I  get  up  at  four  in  summer 
and  six  in  winter ;  in  the  spring  and  autumn  it  is  some- 
where between  the  two."  This  would  be  considered 
early  rising  in  England  generally,  and  in  any  large 
French  city,  but  it  seems  only  the  ordinary  course  of 
things  to  a  rustic  squire  in  this  neighbourhood.  Still 
my  friend  was  a  little  earlier  than  other  people  in  the 
same  class,  without  being  aware  of  it.  They  generally 
get  up  at  five  in  summer,  or  thereabouts,  and  at  seven 
in  the  depth  of  winter. 

The  English  breakfast  is  entirely  unknown  in  France, 
and  at  the  risk  of  offending  every  English  reader  I  will 
venture  upon  the  observation,  that'the  institution  may 
very  well  be  dispensed  with.  Happily  for  the  French- 
man, he  is  not  under  the  slightest  moral  or  social  obliga- 
tion to  eat  anything  until  he  has  earned  an  appetite. 
The  English  breakfast,  in  the  middle  classes,  is  in  fact 
kept  up  as  a  means  of  persecution.  You  are  made  to 
sit  at  table,  to  eat  eggs,  or  tongue,  or  a  slice  of  cold 
meat,  and  to  drink  either  tea  or  what  is  by  courtesy  said 
to  be  coffee,  and  if  you  rebel,  and  refuse  to  submit,  you 
are  treated  as  one  worse  than  an  infidel.  It  is  at  once 
inferred  that  you  are  a  dissipated  man  v/ho  has  destroyed 
the  coats  of  his  stomach,  or  else  a  feeble  creature  only 
fit  for  the  life  of  an  invalid.  Nobody  will  believe  that 
you  are  simply  a  rational  being  that  does  not  like  to  be 


Ii8  The  Habit  called  "  Le   Vin  Blanc" 

compelled  to  eat  until  it  is  hungry.  One  of  the  delights 
of  living  in  France  is  that  you  may  do  as  you  like  about 
breakfast.  Ladies  generally  have  a  basin  of  cafe"  au  lait 
with  a  piece  of  bread,  which  they  first  break  into  it,  and 
then  fish  out  bit  by  bit  with  a  spoon.  All  the  doctors 
are  against  caft  an  lait,  which  they  affirm  to  be  indi- 
gestible and  the  source  of  unnumbered  evils ;  but  ladies 
laugh  at  science  except  when  it  suits  their  fancy  to  do  a 
little  doctoring  themselves,  and  then  they  overwhelm  us 
with  their  learning.  Most  of  the  men  in  this  neighbour- 
hood take  nothing  whatever  in  the  morning, — an  absti- 
nence which  does  no  harm  to  strong  men,  especially  if 
the  d/fe&ner  a  la  fonrchette  is  not  served  too  late ;  but  if 
the  interval  is  too  long  a  feeling  of  exhaustion  comes 
on,  which  leads  to  a  habit  worse  than  the  English  break- 
fast itself,  or  cafe  an  lait  either,  namely,  le  vin  blanc. 
This  is  very  common  in  country  towns.  The  victim 
begins  by  taking  half  a  glass  of  some  light  white  wine 
to  keep  himself  up  till  dejeuner.  He  gradually  increases 
the  dose,  and  finally  drinks  half  a  bottle.  This  is  the 
general  limit,  but  some  go  farther,  and  drink  a  whole 
bottle.  It  is  curious  that  this  habit  should  be  so  per- 
nicious as  it  is,  for  the  wines  are  generally  good  and 
sound,  and  only  heavy  as  Burgundy  generally  is,  or 
what  a  sherry-drinker  would  call  very  light  ;  but  the  evil 
is,  that  the  stimulus  is  poured  into  the  empty  stomach, 
and  that  the  peculiarly  exciting  powers  of  white  wine 
are  left  to  operate  directly  upon  the  nervous  system, 
which  has  no  food  to  defend  it.  There  is  also  the  great 
evil  that  the  votary  of  white  wine  lives  constantly 
in  a  state  of  alcoholic  stimulation.  He  begins  with  it 


Matutinal  Soup.  119 

in  the  morning,  repeats  it  at  meal  times  and  between 
meals,  and  continues  it  in  the  evening  till  bed-time. 
You  will  seldom,  however,  find  this  habit  amongst 
country  squires.  If  the  interval  before  the  grand 
ctijeuncr  seems  too  long,  they  take  food  of  some  kind 
just  as  they  feel  inclined,  each  man  by  himself,  no  matter 
where  or  how.  One  of  them  earnestly  recommended  a 
basin  of  soup  to  me  as  the  best  thing  for  this  purpose, 
especially  if  one  goes  out  early  in  the  morning ;  he  said 
it  had  the  advantage  of  sustaining  well,  without  spoiling 
the  appetite  or  offering  any  difficulty  in  digestion  ;  cafe 
au  lait,  in  his  opinion,  was  objectionable  because  it 
stopped  digestion,  and  chocolate  he  did  not  like  because 
it  was  heavy  and  heating.  I  found  afterwards  that 
others  were  of  his  way  of  thinking,  and  that  the 
believers  in  soup  were  generally  healthy  and  reasonable 
men,  so  I  became  a  believer  in  soup  myself,  and  am  so 
still.  It  ought  to  be  either  soupe  grasse,  or  soupe  a 
I'oignon,  with  plenty  of  bread  in  it  After  a  basin 
thereof,  a  healthy  man  is  able  to  work  in  full  vigour, 
mentally  or  physically,  from  five  o'clock  in  the  morning 
till  ten  or  eleven.  A  Frenchman  hardly  ever  uses  tea, 
the  national  beverage  of  England  ;  he  looks  upon  it  as  a 
sort  of  medicine,  which  may  be  safely  administered,  in  a 
weak  state,  to  them  that  are  afflicted  with  the  colic,  and 
although  he  likes  coffee,  and  knows  how  to  make  it,  he 
will  not  drink  cafe  noir  when  fasting. 

In  the  country  the  dtje&ntr  a  la  fourchette  is  the  great 
meal  of  the  day.  Readers  who  know  French  cookery 
and  customs  from  the  practices  of  the  hotels  will  in 
some  respects  be  liable  to  wrong  impressions  about  the 


J2O  Private  Life  and  Hotel  Life. 

way  of  living  in  private  houses.  The  dishes  in  the 
hotels  are  much  more  remarkable  for  number  and 
variety  than  for  good  quality,  the  object  of  the  variety 
being  to  hit  the  taste  of  all  the  guests,  so  that  every  one 
of  them  may  find  one  or  two  dishes  to  his  fancy.  In 
private  houses  the  tastes  of  all  the  family  are  known 
beforehand,  and  so  even  are  those  of  friends  who  often 
join  the  home  party,  so  that  every  house  comes  in  time 
to  have  its  own  round  of  dishes,  much  more  limited 
than  the  long  menus  of  the  hotels,  and  generally  much 
better  cooked.  You  often  hear  Frenchmen  complain  of 
their  own  hotels  just  as  English  travellers  might  com- 
plain of  them.  They  often  say  that  hotel  living  is  not 
wholesome,  that  the  variety  is  too  great,  and  that  the 
cookery  is  not  so  strictly  cared  for,  with  reference  to 
health,  as  it  ought  to  be.  My  own  experience  has  always 
marked  the  difference  between  the  two  kinds  of  living 
in  the  most  decided  manner.  French  hotel  life  does 
not  suit  me,  but  I  have  never  been  unwell  after  dining 
or  staying  in  a  private  house  in  France.  Those  who 
understand  these  things  tell  me  that  in  the  hotels  due 
care  is  very  seldom  taken  to  keep  dishes  separate,  that 
sauces  get  mixed  together,  and  that  utensils,  in  the 
smaller  hotels  at  least,  are  not  kept  strictly  to  their  own 
special  purposes,  so  that  you  get  that  general  sickening, 
well-known  go&t  de  graillon,  which  nothing  less  robust 
than  the  stomach  of  a  commercial  traveller  can  endure 
without  rebellion.  In  a  private  house  which  is  not 
below  the  average  of  the  well-to-do  classes,  you  escape 
these  evils  because  dishes  are  kept  apart  and  there  are 
plenty  of  well-cleaned  utensils  ;  besides  which,  as  the 


Dejeilner  a  la  Fourchette.  121 


number  of  dishes  is  much  more  restricted,  more  care  is 
given  to  each,  and  a  more  perfect  skill  is  attained  by 
constant  practice.  The  admirable  vigilance  of  French 
ladies  in  everything  that  relates  to  housekeeping  makes 
you  safe  and  comfortable  even  in  houses  where  the 
servants  are  rough  and  inefficient.  If  the  lady  of  the 
house  is  at  home  you  will  dine  well,  but  if  she  is  absent 
that  is  not  quite  so  certain. 

The  ordinary  custom  at  dejefiner  is  to  have  a  dish  of 
meat,  a  dish  of  vegetables,  and  dessert,  in  a  small  family, 
but  when  there  are  a  good  many  plates  to  fill  there 
will  be  two  dishes  of  meat.  Dessert  is  never  omitted, 
and  in  a  country  of  fruit  like  France  it  is  often  both 
good  and  cheap.  Melons,  as  the  reader  is  probably 
aware,  are  eaten  at  the  beginning  of  the  meal,  with 
pepper  and  salt,  and  a  very  pleasant  beginning  they  are 
when  they  happen  to  be  good. 

The  wine  drunk  during  meals  is  always  some  cheap 
vin  ordinaire.  An  Englishman  wonders  at  first  how 
rich  people  can  be  induced  to  drink  such  poor  wine  at 
all,  but  after  some  experience  he  discovers  that  vin 
ordinaire  is  one  of  those  common  things  which  are 
better  in  their  place  than  more  expensive  things,  just  as 
bread  is  better  for  constant  use  than  plum-cake.  There 
are,  however,  very  different  qualities  of  vin  ordinaire,  and 
the  skill  of  the  master  of  the  house  is  never  put  to  a 
more  serious  test  than  in  the  choice  of  this  common 
wine,  the  merit  of  which  is  not  to  bear  a  distant  re- 
semblance to  bon  vin,  but  to  keep  the  appetite  alive 
(bon  vin  cloys  it),  and  to  bear  mixture  with  water.  A 
good  vin  ordinaire  is  not  preferred  to  a  higher  class  of 


122  Wine  and  Coffee. 

wine  simply  from  economy  ;  if  the  two  were  at  the  same 
price,  the  judicious  Frenchman  would  choose  an  ordinaire 
for  use  until  hunger  was  satisfied.  A  bottle  of  better 
wine  is  alv/ays  produced  at  or  before  dessert  if  there  is 
a  guest ;  but  this  is  generally  omitted  when  the  family  is 
alone,  unless  there  is  some  excuse  for  the  indulgence, 
such  as  a  birthday,  a  fete  day,  or  the  return  of  a  mem- 
ber of  the  family  from  a  distance.  In  summer,  white 
wine  is  often  served  at  dejefiner  and  drunk  with  seltzer 
water,  with  which  it  makes  a  very  refreshing  beverage, 
perhaps  only  too  stimulating  to  the  appetite.  Coffee  is 
hardly  ever  omitted  after  dcjeilner  even  in  the  most 
economical  families  ;  it  is  generally  excellent,  but  not 
invariably.  In  houses  where  care  is  taken  about  coffee, 
it  is  roasted  in  very  small  quantities  at  a  time,  and  very 
moderately.  The  burnt  black  coffee  of  the  cafes  is 
generally  only  fit  for  peasants  at  a  fair,  the  true  con- 
noisseur despises  it,  and  takes  the  greatest  precautions 
to  secure  the  unspoiled  aroma.  It  is  very  probable  that 
there  may  be  some  natural  connection  between  the 
wine  and  the  coffee  ;  the  wine  seems  to  call  for  the 
coffee,  and  perhaps  physiologists  may  know  the  reason. 
The  wine  drunk  varies  from  half  a  bottle  to  a  bottle  at 
each  meal,  for  each  man  ;  ladies  drink  less,  and  seldom 
go  beyond  the  half  bottle.  In  hotels  a  bottle  is  the 
regular  allowance.  Men  often  drink  their  wine  pure, 
but  ladies  never  do,  except  a  little  at  the  end  of  the 
repast.  The  quantity  of  wine  drunk  in  France  some- 
times appears  excessive  to  modern  Englishmen,  though 
it  would  not  have  astonished  the  contemporaries  of 
Sheridan  and  Pitt,  whilst  Americans  rather  suspect  you 


English  and  French  Meals.  123 

of  a  tendency  to  intemperance  if  you  drink  anything 
but  iced  water  during  meals.  I  have  never  perceived 
that  a  Frenchman  was  less  sober  after  his  bottle  of  vin 
ordinaire,  nor  is  there  any  reason  to  believe  that  it 
injures  his  health  or  shortens  his  existence  ;  but  if  he 
drinks  much  wine  at  meals  he  ought  to  abstain  rigorously 
from  drinking  between  meals,  and  the  wisest  Frenchmen 
are  often  very  severe  with  themselves  on  this  point.  I 
know  several  whom  nothing  would  induce  to  infringe 
their  rule,  and  who  never  enter  a  cafe". 

The  dejciiner  is  generally  served  between  ten  and 
eleven  in  the  country,  so  that  there  is  a  fine  space  of 
time  before  the  six  o'clock  dinner,  both  for  digestion 
and  work.  Country  gentlemen  usually  occupy  them- 
selves about  their  own  estates  until  dejeftner,  and  drive 
off  after  it  to  see  friends  or  attend  to  business  at  a 
distance.  The  only  inconvenience  about  the  French 
dejeiiner  is  that  on  days  when  you  go  to  shoot,  or  for  a 
long  excursion,  there  is  some  difficulty  about  settling 
whether  the  meal  is  to  be  served  earlier  or  later  than 
usual,  for  eleven  is  an  inconvenient  hour  in  these  cases, 
and  the  English  breakfast  at  eight  is  more  suitable. 
There  is  also  an  objection  to  the  French  system  on  the 
ground  of  too  great  similarity  between  the  two  meals. 
In  England  this  similarity  is  very  happily  avoided ; 
breakfast,  lunch,  and  dinner,  in  the  upper  classes,  or 
breakfast,  dinner,  and  tea,  in  the  middle  classes,  are 
perfectly  distinct  in  character.  The  objection  to  the 
French  system  always  seems  to  me  most  evident  in  rich 
men's  houses,  because  there  the  dfje&ner  and  diner  are 
in  reality  two  dinners,  and,  although  the  interval  between 


124  "  Tea"  unknown  as  a  Repast, 

them  is  long,  it  is  tiresome  to  go  through  an  important 
ceremonious  banquet  twice  in  the  same  day.  The 
ordinary  habits  of  the  smaller  country  gentry  correct 
this,  however,  for  the  dfy'etiner  is  almost  always  the  im- 
portant meal,  whilst  what  is  called  dinner  is  lighter  and 
simpler,  very  often  consisting  of  nothing  but  an  omelette 
and  salad  when  the  family  are  by  themselves,  or  a  soupe 
maigre  and  a  bit  of  cold  chicken.  "  Tea "  is  quite 
unknown  as  a  repast,  and  this  may  be  considered  unfor- 
tunate, for  tea  would  avoid  the  repetition  of  wine  ;  but 
there  is  not  the  faintest  probability  that  the  French  will 
ever  be  persuaded  to  adopt  the  English  custom.  Unless 
they  see  a  bottle  of  wine  on  a  table  they  think  there  is 
nothing  to  eat.  The  impression  of  misery  and  insuffi- 
ciency which  is  produced  on  French  minds  by  the  sight 
of  an  English  tea  is  highly  curious,  and  quite  inde- 
pendent of  reason.  Although  there  may  be  much  more 
upon  the  table  than  they  can  eat,  they  suffer  from  an 
uncontrollable  sense  of  starvation.  The  reader  may 
perhaps  remember  a  scene  in  Mrs.  Oliphant's  story  of 
"  Innocent,"  where  an  English  lady,  at  Venice,  pities 
the  Italian  girl  for  dining  so  wretchedly  on  thin  wine, 
oily  salad,  &c.,  and  thinks  how  much  better  it  would  be 
to  have  "  a  comfortable  tea."  Precisely  the  same  feel- 
ings are  excited  in  the  French  mind  by  the  sight  ot 
an  English  tea-table.  It  is  one  of  the  most  curious 
instances  of  difference  in  custom  that  the  Chinese 
beverage  should  have  become  so  thoroughly  national  in 
England,  whilst  our  nearest  neighbours  scarcely  know 
the  taste  of  it.  They  always  say  it  agitates  them  and 
prevents  them  from  sleeping,  however  weak  it  may  be  ; 


Game  in  France.  125 


and  this  is  really  the  effect  upon  constitutions  which 
have  not  been  inured  to  it  by  practice. 

In  the  country,  French  people  go  to  bed  very  soon, 
often  at  nine  o'clock  or  a  little  after.  One  of  our  neigh- 
bours was  always  so  sleepy  after  dinner,  that  with  the 
very  best  intentions  he  tried  in  vain  to  be  sociable. 
There  is  a  common  impression  in  England  that  the 
French  take  no  exercise,  because  they  are  to  be  seen  in 
the  cafes  in  large  towns,  but  in  the  country  they  are 
often  out  all  day,  which  accounts  for  the  sleepiness  in 
the  evening.  They  are  generally  fond  of  gardening, 
working  very  steadily  with  their  gardeners  at  certain 
interesting  seasons  of  the  year.  Almost  all  country 
gentlemen  shoot  during  the  season.  Here,  of  course, 
the  English  reader  smiles,  because  French  shooting  is  a 
standing  joke  in  the  English  newspapers,  where  you  find 
ancient  legends  about  the  one  hare  which  was  supposed 
to  haunt  a  particular  neighbourhood,  and  animated  the 
chasseurs  with  vain  hopes,  year  after  year.  Stories  of 
this  kind  are  generally  borrowed  from  the  French 
satirists  themselves,  who  do  not  spare  their  brethren, 
and  who  find  a  fair  pretext  for  their  inventions  in  the 
absence  of  game  round  the  large  towns.  In  this  neigh- 
bourhood there  is  not  so  much  game  as  on  a  well- 
preserved  English  estate,  but  there  is  enough  to  afford 
a  reasonable  excuse  for  much  walking  with  gun  and 
dogs.  There  are  plenty  of  partridges,  a  good  many 
rabbits,  and  some  hares,  besides  snipe  and  woodcock. 
I  know  more  than  one  country-house  which  in  the  season 
is  kept  very  well  supplied  with  game  by  the  master's 
gun,  and  where  the  cook  sends  hares  and  rabbits  to 


126  French  Sportsmen. 

table    only    too    frequently,  dressed  in   various   ways. 
There  are  more  partridges,  however,  than  anything  else. 
The  exact  truth  is  that  a  good  shot,  who  is  at  the  same 
time  an  untiring  pedestrian  (and  there  are  many  such  in 
the  neighbourhood),  will  generally  make  a  bag,  if  not  a 
very  full    one.     There  is  nothing   comparable  to   the 
grouse-shooting  of  Scotland,  though  that  in  its  turn  is  a 
delusion  and  a  snare  in  comparison  with  the  far  finer 
grouse-shooting   of    Lancashire    and   West   Yorkshire. 
But  a  genuine  sportsman  does  not  estimate  the  pleasure 
he  seeks  by  the  quantity  of  game  which  he  kills.     lie 
enjoys  the  ramble  in  quest,  the  life  out  of  doors,  and 
the  exploration  of  the  country  in  detail ;  he  enjoys  the 
scenery,  too,  in  his  own  way,  though  not  perhaps  with 
the  cultivated  taste  of  a  landscape-painter.    I  certainly 
cannot  see  why  French  country  gentlemen  should  always 
be  laughed  at  by  English  journalists.     They  are  often 
excellent  shots,  and  capable  of  enduring  much  fatigue. 
As  to  the  foppery  of   the    French  sportsman,  I  have 
not  yet  detected  it  in  this  neighbourhood,  where  men 
generally  go  out    in    simple  grey  clothing,  and   have 
nothing  especially  picturesque  about  them  except  the 
old-fashioned  netting  and  fringe  on  the  game-bag.     If 
a  journalist  chooses  to  sneer,  he  can,  however,  generally 
find  an  opportunity  for  doing  so.     When  a  man  goes 
out  shooting  in  a  pretty  costume  he  can  be  laughed  at 
for  dandyism,  but  when  he  dresses  plainly  he  can  be 
called  shabby.     Marshal  MacMahon,  who  still,  notwith- 
standing  his   elevation,   preserves  his  old  habits  as  a 
French  country  gentleman,  goes  out  shooting  all  day 
long  in  the  simplest  guise.     Plain  in  his  way  of  living 


Wild  Boars  are  numerous.  127 

(when  he  can  escape  from  official  ceremony),  he  enjoys 
nothing  so  much  as  a  vigorous  walk  of  five  or  six  hours 
after  partridges,  dressed  in  his  old  clothes,  and  with  an 
old  grey  wide-awake  on  his  head. 

It  seems  too,  if  we  consider  all  things  fairly,  that  the 
sportsmen  of  this  neighbourhood  ought  to  be  safe  from 
the  sneers  of  Londoners,  if  only  on  account  of  the 
nobler  sports  in  which  they  share,  which  are  not  to  be 
had  in  England.  It  is  certainly  not  an  exaggeration 
to  say  that  there  are  hundreds  of  wild  boars  in  the 
forests  of  these  regions.  In  a  single  week's  hunting, 
on  the  slopes  of  one  wooded  hill  only,  twenty-eight 
wild  boars  were  killed,  and  the  space  of  ground  hunted 
over  was  but  a  small  fraction  of  the  vast  forests  acces- 
sible to  the  sportsman  here.  There  is  a  valley  within 
twelve  miles  of  my  house  where  the  wild  boars  are  so 
numerous  that  they  are  a  serious  inconvenience  to  the 
farmers,  and  although  they  keep  generally  to  their  hill- 
forests  they  come  nearer  to  us  occasionally.  A  very 
fine  one  crossed  a  field  once  close  to  my  house  in  full 
daylight,  and  several  others  have  been  hunted  within 
a  distance  of  two  miles.  In  another  district,  not  close 
to  this,  but  very  easily  accessible  from  here,  no  less  than 
ninety-eight  wild  boars  were  killed  in  a  single  season. 
Now  this  is  not  precisely  child's  play.  These  boars  are 
not  tame  pigs  like  those  which  are  kept  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  Emperor  of  Germany  ;  they  have  not  had 
their  tusks  sawn  off ;  they  have  not  been  kept  in  pad- 
docks and  styes  ;  their  days  and  nights  have  been 
passed  in  the  wild  forest,  and  when  they  are  brought 
to  bay  they  will  fight  to  the  last  extremity.  Let  us 


128  Wolves  and  tlieir  Preservers. 

respect  ourselves  in  respecting  others.  It  is  not  for 
Englishmen,  who  have  never  encountered  anything 
more  terrible  than  a  hare  or  a  fox,  to  laugh  at  brave 
Burgundians,  who  have  faced  the  boar  in  his  fury. 

Where  boars  are  numerous,  wolves  are  seldom  seen  ; 
but  there  are  wolves  here  in  some  parts  of  the  forests 
which  the  wild  boars  avoid.  The  reader  may  be  aware 
that  there  is  an  official  institution  intended  to  exter- 
minate the  wolf,  but  which  really  operates  for  his 
preservation.  Certain  country  gentlemen  are  appointed 
louvetiers,  and  it  is  supposed  to  be  their  duty  to  fight 
against  the  wolf  in  the  interests  of  mankind  and  civi- 
lization. What  would  happen  if  such  an  institution 
existed  in  England,  if  there  were  wolves  in  the  British 
Islands  ?  The  appointed  exterminators  would  find 
that  the  hunting  was  very  amusing,  and  would  think  it 
a  pity  to  deprive  themselves  of  it  in  future  by  the  total 
extinction  of  the  animal.  For  the  enjoyment  of  wolf- 
hunting  there  must  be  wolves.  The  exterminators 
would  deal  with  them  as  our  Yorkshire  squires  deal 
with  foxes,  killing  some  of  them,  no  doubt,  but  with 
quite  an  affectionate  feeling,  and  having  meanwhile  a 
most  tender  care  for  the  preservation  of  the  race.  This 
is  exactly  what  happens  in  France.  The  wolves  are 
hunted  occasionally,  but  without  the  slightest  desire  to 
deprive  posterity  of  the  same  noble  amusement.  Most 
of  the  country  gentlemen  in  these  parts  have  hunted 
the  wolf,  and  are  ready  to  hunt  him  again.  Surely  this 
may  be  considered  manly  sport.  Lastly,  there  are  deer, 
really  wild  in  the  great  forests,  and  not  taken  to  the 
rendezvous  in  a  cart.  They  are  not  very  numerous, 


Disuse  of  the  Saddle.  129 

except  sometimes  in  special  localities,  but  still  they 
exist,  and  are  killed  occasionally.  The  mere  knowledge 
that  they  are  to  be  met  with  gives  a  certain  poetry  to 
the  woods,  as  every  sportsman  knows. 

Few  country  gentlemen  ride  on  horseback  now.  I 
know  two  or  three  young  ones  who  ride  often  and  well, 
but  that  is  nothing  in  proportion  to  the  numbers  who 
have  carriages  and  never  sit  in  a  saddle.  A  notion 
seems  to  have  gradually  implanted  itself  in  the  French 
mind,  that  to  be  seen  on  horseback  is  not  quite  con- 
sistent with  the  dignity  of  mature  years.  The  ex- 
cellence of  the  roads,  and  the  great  improvements  in 
the  build  of  carriages  have  put  "  all  the  world  on 
wheels."  Former  generations  owed  their  skill  in 
horsemanship  to  the  bad  narrow  roads  and  rough 
bridle-paths  which  were  then  the  only  means  of  com- 
munication. It  is  now  becoming  rather  ridiculous  to 
be  seen  on  horseback  in  France  for  elderly  and  respect- 
able people,  though  young  men  may  ride  with  im- 
punity if  they  can.  The  feeling  is  something  like  that 
about  velocipedes  in  an  English  country  town.  Young 
men  may  run  about  on  them — c'est  de  leur  age — but 
elderly  magistrates,  clergymen,  and  lawyers  may  not. 
This  disuse  of  the  saddle  is  really  a  misfortune,  for  it 
deprives  country  life  of  one  of  its  greatest  charms. 
There  are  still  a  good  many  narrow  and  picturesque 
old  tracks  through  the  woods  and  over  the  hills,  which 
may  be  perfectly  explored  on  horseback,  but  are  entirely 
inaccessible  to  carriages,  and  it  is  delightful  to  follow 
out  these,  with  all  their  rich  unforeseen  variety  of  small 
discoveries,  giving  a  new  interest  every  hundred  yards 

K 


130  A  Reckless  Rider. 


When  the  young  men  do  ride  they  ride  boldly  but  not 
always  elegantly,  at  least  according  to  our  English 
taste.  I  remember  one  of  them,  a  young  officer  who 
had  behaved  with  much  courage  during  the  war,  and 
who  invited  me  one  day  to  take  a  long  round  with  him 
on  horseback.  Our  road  lay  at  first  in  the  pretty  lanes, 
but  after  a  few  miles  we  quitted  these  and  followed  a 
wild  rocky  track  in  the  heart  of  a  great  wood.  The 
perfect  recklessness  of  my  companion's  horsemanship 
amazed  me.  The  worse  the  road  became,  the  wilder 
his  riding.  At  length  we  arrived  at  some  very  steep 
and  stony  hills,  with  ribs  of  rock  lying  across  the  way  ; 
so  my  young  friend  thought  it  just  the  place  for  a 
gallop,  and  set  off.  Not  being  disposed  to  follow  at  the 
same  pace,  I  soon  lost  sight  of  him,  but  on  reaching  the 
top  of  a  hill,  perceived  him  lying  with  his  head  on  a 
lump  of  granite  and  his  foot  fast  in  the  stirrup,  his  horse 
standing  quite  patiently.  "  He  is  killed,"  I  thought, 
"  but  if  not,  this  will  be  a  lesson  to  him."  He  was  not 
killed,  however,  and  the  lesson  profited  little,  for,  once 
in  the  saddle  again,  he  dashed  away  as  wildly  and  reck- 
lessly as  ever.  It  was  his  boast  that  he  could  ride 
anything,  and  certainly  he  did  possess  one  of  the  most 
objectionable  animals  I  ever  mounted,  a  grey  mare, 
very  mild  in  aspect,  but  whose  one  idea  of  progression 
consisted  of  alternate  kicking  and  rearing.  He  kept 
her,  I  think,  merely  to  exhibit  his  own  superior  horse- 
manship, for  Ee  did  get  her  along  somehow,  which 
nobody  else  could. 

In  the  country,  the  men  are  not  afraid  of  a  long  walk. 
One  of  my  neighbours  woukl  go  fifteen  miles  and  back 


Pedestrianism  in  the  Country.  131 

with  no  other  companions  than  his  walking-stick  and 
a  little  dog,  though  he  had  a  carriage  ;  and  I  know 
another  who  sometimes  does  his  forty  miles  in  a  day, 
and  very  often  twenty.  I  also  know  a  surgeon  who  has 
a  practice  which  extends  over  a  large  tract  of  hilly 
country,  thinly  inhabited,  and  yet  he  will  not  keep  a 
horse,  but  prefers  walking,  as  more  convenient  for  short 
cuts.  His  average  day's  pedestrianism  will  be  between 
ten  and  thirty  miles.  My  boys  often  go  to  stay  with 
some  young  friends  of  theirs  in  a  wild  out-of-the- 
way  village,  and  during  these  visits  they  make  daily 
pedestrian  excursions,  in  which  the  master  of  the 
house  often  joins  them  ;  these  excursions  often  extend 
to  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  by  the  time  they  get  back  to 
the  village.  I  remember  meeting  a  friend  of  ours,  an 
old  gentleman,  not  yet  enfeebled  by  time,  who  had 
given  us  a  rendezvous  at  a  certain  large  pond  or  lake 
amongst  the  hills.  It  was  at  least  forty  miles  from  his 
own  house,  but  he  came  on  foot,  and  brought  three 
young  men  with  him.  They  had  slept  one  night  on 
the  way,  and  rambled  through  a  wild  country  botanizing 
and  geologizing.  They  went  back  by  another  round, 
exactly  in  the  same  manner,  guiding  themselves  by  the 
ordnance  map  and  a  mariner's  compass,  a  necessary 
precaution  in  crossing  broad  patches  of  forest.  There 
is  a  great  deal  of  this  vigorous  temper  in  the  real 
country,  but  in  the  small  towns  the  men  become 
physically  indolent  through  sedentary  occupation, 
and  the  habit  of  spending  their  leisure  hours  in  the 
caf/s;  so  that  after  thirty  they  are  disinclined  for  exer- 
tion, and  require  some  definite  excitement,  such  as 

K  2 


132  Abandonment  of  former  Simplicity. 

shooting,  to  overcome  this  disinclination.  There  was 
very  much  the  same  temper  in  English  country  towns 
until  the  volunteer  movement  did  something  to  correct 
it.  I  can  very  well  remember  that  townspeople  in 
England  used  to  speak  of  a  walk  of  two  miles  into  the 
country  as  if  it  were  something  formidable.*  If  you 
want  to  be  free  from  interruption,  a  distance  of  two 
or  three  mile?  will  defend  your  privacy  perfectly. 

Amongst  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  squires 
in  France,  which  ought  to  be  specially  noticed  in  a 
book  intended  for  English  and  American  readers,  is  a 
certain  general  simplicity  and  roughness  in  their  belong- 
ings. During  the  last  few  years,  however,  a  rapid 
change  has  been  taking  place,  and  the  old  simplicity  of 
rustic  France  is  silently  but  swiftly  giving  way  to  a  sort 
of  English  finish  in  everything.  This  change,  I  think, 
is  much  to  be  regretted,  not  so  much  for  artistic  reasons, 
not  so  much  because  the  old  life  was  more  picturesque 
than  the  new,  as  because  the  polish  which  is  now  pene- 
trating into  country  houses  is  of  a  kind  which  greatly 
increases  the  cost  of  living  without  improving  either  the 
minds,  or  the  manners,  or  the  health  of  the  people  who 
inhabit  them.  The  reason  why  country  life  in  France 
used  to  be  possible  on  a  small  income,  was  its  remark- 
able freedom  from  social  pressure  in  expense.  Even 
ten  or  twelve  years  ago  this  freedom  was  still  pretty 

*  This  remark  does  not  apply  to  Londoners,  who  often  walk 
considerable  distances.  In  small  towns  people  get  the  habit  of 
small  distances,  everything  is  so  near  to  them,  and  so  it  comes  to 
pass  that  the  inhabitants  of  small  towns  are  the  worst  pedestrians 
in  the  world. 


The  old  Liberty.  133 


nearly  absolute,  but  now  it  is  becoming  gradually  more 
and  more  restricted,  and  it  is  only  too  probable  that 
there  will  be  little  of  it  left  in  twenty  years.  In  dress, 
equipage,  and  furniture,  the  smaller  squires  spent  their 
money,  or  did  not  spend  it,  precisely  as  they  pleased, 
looking  simply  to  their  own  means  and  their  own  real 
wants,  without  the  slightest  reference  to  any  authori- 
tative public  opinion  outside  their  own  gates.  If  one 
man  had  a  fancy  for  a  pretty  carriage,  he  indulged  it ; 
but  if  another  did  not  care  for  prettiness  in  carriages,  he 
had  some  shabby  old  conveyance  which  his  father  had 
used  before  him,  and  nobody  thought  of  criticizing  it.  So 
in  dress,  it  was  an  acknowledged  principle  that  every- 
body might  dress  as  he  pleased  " a  la  campagne," 'and  gen- 
tlemen wore  comfortable  old  grey  clothes,  or  the  cheapest 
light  summer  ones,  without  thinking  about  fashion, 
whilst  ladies  dressed  very  simply  at  home,  and  kept 
their  toilettes  for  visiting.  Houses  were  left  very  much 
in  the  rough  ;  not  much  money  was  spent  on  iron  rail- 
ings, painting,  papering,  and  gilding  ;  carpets  were  all 
but  unknown,  and  only  the  best  rooms  had  polished 
floors,  the  others  being  of  brick  or  plain  deal.  In  one 
word  there  was  little  finish,  or  little  of  it  was  exacted 
by  public  opinion.  If  a  small  squire,  on  looking  over 
his  accounts,  found  that  he  could  not  well  afford  to  have 
his  carriage  painted,  or  to  buy  new  harness,  he  could 
put  off  the  expense  quite  indefinitely,  and  nobody 
would  make  a  remark.  I  knew  one,  by  no  means  poor, 
who  had  made  preparations  for  iron  gates  and  railings, 
but  finding  that  they  were  costly  things,  left  his  stone 
walls  and  gate-posts  without  them  till  the  day  of  his 


134  Old  and  new  Habits. 

death,  nor  would  he  ever  have  his  shutters  painted — a 
false  economy,  but  it  was  his  fancy.  I  have  often  slept 
in  a  squire's  house  where'  the  whole  furniture  of  my 
carpetless  room  was  not  worth  five  pounds — in  England 
such  a  room  could  not  be  offered  to  a  guest.  Yet  why 
not  ?  a  sleepy  man  may  be  as  happy  there  as  in  one  of 
the  state  bed-chambers  at  Fontainebleau.  This  kind 
of  independence  used  to  be  very  strongly  and  (to  an 
Englishman's  taste)  disagreeably  exhibited  in  the  often 
indefinite  postponement  of  papering  and  painting  the 
interiors  of  houses,  so  that  they  had  none  of  that 
freshness  and  cleanliness  which  we  commonly  find  in 
England.  I  admit  that  this  is  unpleasant  to  the  eye, 
and  that  the  English  system  is  much  more  agreeable ; 
but  to  paper  and  paint  a  house  from  top  to  bottom  is 
very  expensive,  and  if  public  opinion  allows  you  to  put 
off  the  evil  day  it  is  sometimes  a  convenience.  These 
liberties  are  now  becoming  much  more  restricted 
There  is  hardly  a  squire  in  this  neighbourhood  who  has 
not  bought  a  pretty  well-finished  new  carriage  within 
the  last  few  years,  and  when  the  neighbours  all  go  in 
pretty  carriages  it  is  difficult  to  keep  up  the  old  lum- 
bering ancestral  vehicle.  A  good  many  people  have 
now  very  elegant  broughams  or  landaus  with  two 
horses,  which  would  not  look  out  of  place  in  the  bois  de 
Boulogne.  Finish  and  elegance  are  invading  the  houses 
also.  My  next  neighbour  has  just  been  spending  a 
good  deal  of  money  on  handsome  iron  railings  and 
gates,  whereas  his  place  in  former  times  was  thought 
sufficiently  well  defended  when  a  rough  wooden  fence 
kept  the  cattle  out  of  the  garden.  He  has  also  papered 


People  are  becoming  "  Cossus"  135 

and  painted  every  room  in  his  house,  and  had  joiners 
to  make  the  shutters  fit  better,  to  put  new  banisters  on 
the  stairs,  and  new  wash-boards  round  the  rooms.  This 
is  quite  in  the  modern  spirit,  and  what  he  is  doing  every- 
body else  seems  to  be  doing  more  or  less  thoroughly 
and  completely.  I  was  at  a  chateau  last  autumn  where 
the  old  tiled  roof  had  been  entirely  replaced  by  one 
of  neat  blue  slate,  whilst  a  new  facade  had  been  erected 
and  a  new  perron,  or  external  stair,  the  perron  alone 
costing  40,000  francs.  The  insides  of  the  inconvenient 
old  country  houses  are  altered  and  remodelled  accord- 
ing to  Parisian  ideas.  Many  new  houses  are  built  with 
the  utmost  neatness,  and  the  well-kept,  well-varnished 
carriage  passes  up  a  smoothly-sanded  drive,  and  is 
housed  at  last  in  a  model  coach-house  with  a  canvas 
cover  to  protect  it  from  the  dust.  In  one  word,  the 
French  are  becoming  cossus. 

Perhaps  the  reader  may  not  know  precisely  what  it 
is  to  be  cossu.  The  word  comes  from  cosse,  a  pod,  and 
a  man  who  is  cossu  is  a  comfortable  well-protected  man, 
reminding  one  of  beans  in  their  downy  envelope. 
Rich  English  people  have  been  as  cossus  as  possible 
for  a  very  long  time  past,  but  the  French  are  only 
becoming  so,  and  the  process  is  not  yet  quite  complete. 
It  is  very  pleasant  to  be  cossu  when  you  can  easily 
afford  it,  but  there  is  this  great  evil  about  it,  namely, 
that  those  who  have  already  entered  into  the  podded 
state  despise  those  who  have  not,  and  often  become  so 
proud  that  they  exclude  them  altogether  from  their 
society.  Knowing  this,  and  not  liking  to  be  sneered  at 
and  despised  (for  who  likes  that  ?),  those  who  were  per- 


136  The  Liberty  of  Spending, 

fectly  contented  with  their  old  plain  way  of  living  feel 
a  sort  of  obligation  to  leave  it  for  more  elaboration  of 
luxury,  and  in  order  to  do  this  they  stretch  their  means 
as  far  as  they  will  bear  stretching.  Then  the  liberty  of 
spending  is  gone,  and  a  state  of  things  is  brought  about 
like  that  which  exists  in  England,  where  public 
opinion  settles  how  people  are  to  live  upon  all  different 
scales  of  income,  leaving  hardly  any  margin  for  spend- 
ing according  to  tastes  and  character.  Now  what  I 
deplore  in  the  recent  changes  in  France,  is  the  loss  of 
the  ancient  liberty.  Six  hundred  a  year,  in  rustic 
•  France,  was  real  wealth  twenty  or  thirty  years  ago, 
because  public  opinion  exacted  nothing  from  anybody, 
and  people  might  economize  on  what  was  indifferent  to 
them  in  order  to  spend  upon  what  they  delighted  in. 
One  man's  hobby  (I  am  alluding  to  real  instances,  and 
could  give  names  if  it  were  of  any  use)  was  his  library  ; 
so  he  collected  books,  and  could  do  so,  because  he  was 
not  eaten  up  by  horses  and  servants  ;  another  could 
collect  antiquities,  because  he  would  not  keep  a  car- 
riage ;  another  liked  travelling,  and  made  excursions 
all  over  Europe  from  the  north  of  Sweden  to  Naples  , 
a  fourth  had  a  taste  for  scientific  agriculture,  and  estab- 
lished a  model  farm,  which  was  of  the  very  greatest 
public  service.  It  is  easy  to  laugh  at  hobbies,  but  some 
special  beloved  pursuit  is  just  the  stimulus  to  energy 
which  is  needed  in  country  life,  and  it  cannot  be  fol- 
lowed to  good  effect  without  spending  money  upon  it. 
But  now  comes  Mrs.  Grundy,  or  her  French  relative, 
whoever  she  may  be,  and  compels  all  these  intelligent 
men  to  spend  money  on  things  which  do  them  no  good, 


Social  Pressure  about  Servant*.  137 

which  give  them  no  pleasure,  which  only  vex,  annoy, 
and  irritate  them  ;  till  on  making  up  each  annual  budget 
they  clearly  perceive  that  there  is  no  margin  left  for  any 
noble  or  worthy  spending,  now  that  they  must  needs  be 
cossus.  Surely,  amongst  the  various  kinds  of  liberty,  one  of 
the  most  precious  is  the  liberty  to  spend  and  not  to  spend. 
In  one  most  important  particular,  the  old  liberty  is  still 
maintained,  you  are  free  to  keep  as  few  servants  as  you 
please.  Everybody  who  knows  England  is  aware  that 
there  is,  in  the  upper  classes,  a  very  strong  social  pres- 
sure about  servants.  The  social  position  of  an  English- 
man depends  very  much  upon  the  number  of  servants 
he  keeps,  and  it  is  not  possible  for  him  to  enjoy  un- 
equivocal consideration  without  a  complete  establishment 
It  is  not  at  all  unusual  for  the  northern  English  squires 
to  keep  twelve  or  fifteen  servants  ;  I  know  some  houses 
where  the  number  is  nearer  thirty,  and  where  you  may 
see  quite  a  congregation  of  domestics  every  evening  at 
prayers.  There  is  a  house  in  Yorkshire  where  there 
are  a  hundred  servants  when  the  family  is  at  home. 
Whether  useful  or  not,  they  are  considered  necessary 
to  dignity,  and  as  in  such  matters  everything  depends 
upon  opinion,  they  are  necessary.  In  France  nobody 
inquires  or  cares  how  many  servants  you  have.  We 
had  an  intimate  friend  in  Paris  for  many  years,  who 
enjoyed  a  position  which  would  have  been  utterly 
impossible  in  England  with  so  small  an  establishment 
as  his.  He  received  some  of  the  very  greatest  people 
in  Europe,  and  you  could  never  dine  or  spend  an  even- 
ing at  his  house  without  meeting  some  important  per- 
sonage— either  a  prince,  or  an  ambassador,  or  a  minister, 


138  Small  Establishments. 

or  a  great  financier,  or  some  one  famous  in  literature, 
science,  or  art ;  in  a  word,  it  was  one  of  those  central 
houses  where  simply  to  be  present  was  to  see  and  hear 
the  men  who  (before  the  rise  of  Germany)  had  most 
influence  in  continental  Europe.  Well,  our  host  kept 
no  carnage,  and  only  three  servants  !  I  know  that  in 
London  there  are  quiet  literary  men's  houses  where  you 
may  meet  very  great  people  who  go  there  from  a  sym- 
pathy with  literature,  but  our  French  friend  was  not  a 
writer,  he  was  an  ex-minister  and  ambassador.  Nor 
was  the  moderation  of  his  establishment  due  to  poverty, 
it  was  a  matter  of  taste  with  him ;  he  did  not  care  to  be 
troubled  with  carriages  and  servants.  This,  however,  is 
a  digression,  for  he  lived  in  Paris.  Let  us,  then,  look 
round  my  house.  At  a  distance  of  about  ten  miles  from 
us  there  lived  a  friend  of  ours  who  enjoyed  one  of  the 
most  completely  agreeable  positions  to  which  a  conti- 
nental gentleman  can  aspire.  He  had  a  good  estate,  was 
well  known  for  his  public  spirit  and  activity  all  over  the 
department,  had  been  for  many  years  conseiller  general, 
was  officier  de  la  legion  d'honneur  (the  rank  above  cheva- 
lier], knew  everybody  of  importance,  and  lived  on  equal 
terms  with  the  proudest  old  noble  families.  The 
strength  of  his  establishment  was  as  follows  : — I.  A 
gardener.  2.  A  man-servant,  who  groomed  the  horse, 
cleaned  the  knives  and  boots,  rubbed  the  floors,  and 
drove  the  carriage.  3.  One  woman-servant,  who  did  the 
cooking  and  the  rest.  There  was  a  lady  in  the  house, 
our  friend's  daughter,  who  dusted  things  in  the  morning 
— a  degree  of  bodily  activity  which  did  not  prevent  her 
from  being  one  of  the  most  perfect  ladies,  in  mind  and 


Servants  in  Reserve.  139 

manners,  that  we  ever  had  the  honour  to  know.  If  the 
reader  will  think  of  any  English  county  that  he  knows, 
and  try  to  realize  what  sort  of  a  position  a  public  man 
could  have  in  it  who  kept  only  one  woman-servant,  he 
will  feel  the  contrast.  It  may  be  well  to  remember, 
also,  that  the  average  English  county  is,  as  nearly  as 
possible,  half  the  size  of  the  average  French  depart- 
ment, and  that,  whilst  the  town  population  is  denser  in 
England,  the  rural  population  is  denser  in  France.  The 
plain  truth  is,  that  an  English  squire  with  such  a  small 
establishment  as  the  one  I  have  just  described  could 
aspire  to  no  position  in  his  county,  and  would  be  despised 
in  his  own  parish.  He  would  be  a  nobody. 

I  can  imagine  some  practical  English  lady  reading 
this,  some  lady  who  has  a  dozen  servants,  and  finds 
them  only  just  enough  for  the  elaborate  housekeeping 
which  custom  requires  of  her,  and  she  will  say :  "  But 
how  can  people  manage  with  so  few  servants  ?  how  can 
the  dinner  be  cooked  ?  how  can  guests  ever  be  received  ?  " 
The  answer  is,  that  the  small  establishment  is  sufficient 
for  the  needs  of  the  household,  because  every  one  in  the 
family  has  some  special  house  duty,  and  also  that  on 
occasions  when  more  servants  are  absolutely  necessary, 
they  are  added  for  one  or  two  days  at  a  time.  Every 
house  has  its  reserve  forces  in  the  neighbouring  villages. 
Servants  who  know  the  ways  of  the  house  have  got 
married  and  have  settled  at  moderate  distances,  in  the 
next  village  perhaps,  or  the  next  but  one.  After  that, 
they  form  the  reserve  force  of  the  small  squire's  estab- 
lishment, and  are  always  delighted  to  come  back  to  it 
on  important  occasions.  Very  often  this  temporary 


140  Convenience  only  considered. 

increase  of  the  establishment  is  periodical.  It  is  often 
weekly,  and  nothing  is  easier  than  to  invite  your  friends 
for  those  days  when  the  reserve  is  called  in.  There  are 
also  professed  cooks  in  the  towns,  who  know  all  about 
the  most  elaborate  banquets,  and  one  of  these  will 
relieve  your  mind  entirely.  He  (or  she)  will  look  after 
all  the  details  and  govern  your  regular  and  reserve 
forces  and  auxiliaries,  so  that  the  lady  of  the  house 
may  sit  in  the  drawing-room  with  a  tranquil  mind 
until  the  beginning  of  the  feast.  But,  in  all  this,  con- 
venience is  the  only  consideration.  Nobody  ever  seems 
to  keep  servants  for  the  maintenance  of  his  dignity ; 
nobody  is  compelled  to  keep  them  by  social  pressure. 
It  is  this  liberty  which  seems  good.  I  may  add  that, 
although  servants  are  very  useful,  it  is  not  desirable  to 
have  too  many  of  them.  A  great  establishment  is  a  con- 
stant care.  Intimate  conversation  in  England  betrays 
an  incessant  worry  about  domestics,  which  cannot  leave 
the  mind  so  free  either  for  work  or  enjoyment  as  it 
ought  to  be. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Secrets  of  French  economy — French  sentiment  about  self-help 
contrasted  with  that  of  the  Scotch  Highlanders  and  the 
Arabs — Stories  told  by  Dr.  Macculloch — French  disposition 
to  make  use  of  everything — Gastronomical  curiosity  of  a 
curd  and  notary — Objection  to  mutton  and  Jerusalem  arti- 
chokes— Arrangements  about  household  work  in  the  middle 
classes — Indulgences  in  the  ideal — Devotion  and  fancy  work 
— French  and  English  servants — The  relation  between  master 
and  servant  in  the  two  countries — Strong  attachment  of 
French  servants — Portrait  of  a  gardener — Portrait  of  another 
servant — His  various  good  qualities — A  perilous  result  of 
carelessness — Want  of  delicacy  of  perception  in  women-ser- 
vants— Intelligent  activity  of  mistresses— Servants  useful  for 
rough  work — Affectionate  treatment  of  them  by  mistresses — 
Contemptuous  manner  of  proud  French  people  towards  ser- 
vants— Modern  French  tendency  rather  towards  American 
than  English  habits. 

THE  secret  of  French  economy,  of  the  "  cheapness  of 
living,"  which  English  people  have  always  associated 
with  continental  existence,  lies  in  the  liberty  to  do  as 
you  like  in  the  first  place;  next,  in  the  industry  and 
activity  of  the  people  themselves  in  the  middle  class ; 
and  lastly,  in  the  peculiar  character  of  servants  in  the 
rural  districts.  The  value  of  liberty  in  matters  of 
expense  is  obvious.  It  permits  you  to  begin  by  re- 
nouncing all  expenditure  for  what  is  indifferent  to  you, 
which  at  once  sets  free  all  the  money  that  would  have 
gone  in  obedience  to  other  people's  ideas,  and  leaves  it 


142  Indolence  of  the  Highlanders. 

at  your  own  disposal.  It  also  allows  you  to  postpone 
many  expenses  from  one  year  to  another,  until  it  is 
quite  convenient  to  meet  them. 

The  industry  and  activity  of  the  people  themselves 
are  closely  connected  with  the  absence  of  pride.  The 
contrast  between  certain  races  and  others  in  regard  to 
the  sort  of  pride  which  scorns  self-help  is  very  striking, 
and  it  is  worth  remark  that  a  certain  form  of  nobleness 
appears  to  be  almost  incompatible  with  the  watchful 
activity  of  really  effectual  self-help.  The  Highlanders 
of  Scotland  and  the  Arabs  of  Algeria  have  both  a 
certain  sentiment  about  self-help  which  is  far  from  the 
English  feeling,  and  still  farther  from  American  or 
French  feeling  upon  the  subject.  The  Highlander  will 
no  doubt  work  a  little  when  absolutely  compelled  by 
what,  to  him,  appears  an  unavoidable  necessity  ;  but  he 
takes  no  delight  in  his  work,  and  feels  degraded  by  it. 
He  will  submit  to  any  amount  of  inconvenience  rather 
than  apply  himself  heartily  to  remedy  it.  Dr.  Maccul- 
loch  tells  a  story  of  a  church  in  Glen  Never  which  was 
separated  from  many  of  the  parishioners  by  a  stream 
which  often  became  an  impassable  torrent.  The 
materials  for  building  a  bridge  were  on  the  spot — rocks 
and  fir-trees  in  abundance — but  no  bridge  was  ever 
built.  The  people  were  often  detained  for  several  days 
on  one  side  the  torrent  or  the  other,  but  rather  than  set 
to  work  bridge-building,  they  had  always  preferred  to 
wait  for  the  water  to  subside.  The  same  writer  men- 
tions a  rocky  shore  near  a  laird's  house  where  boats 
could  not  land  in  rough  weather  without  injuring  them- 
selves, whilst  the  laird  and  his  men  had  to  jump  into 


Indolence  and  Pride.  143 

the  water  and  get  wet,  the  men  drawing  the  boat  up 
the  rocks,  "  to  the  destruction  of  her  sheathing."  The 
same  men  might  at  any  time  have  built  a  small  pier, 
but  they  would  not,  and  the  inconvenience  had  lasted 
four  centuries  and  a  half.  So  about  food  and  its  prepar- 
ation. The  Highlander  lives  on  the  barest  necessaries, 
and  will  not  stir  to  procure  an  addition  to  them.  Dr. 
Macculloch  found  a  profusion  of  lobsters  and  crabs 
close  to  a  laird's  house  where  such  delicacies  were  un- 
known. He  gave  the  laird  a  crab-pot  to  catch  them, — 
came  back  a  year  after,  and  found  that  it  was  in  posses- 
sion of  the  hens,  and  had  never  been  used.  Another 
Highland  friend  made  no  use  of  the  salmon  which 
yachtsmen  from  the  south  were  catching  close  to  his 
residence.  He  had  possessed  a  net  "  twenty  years  ago, 
but  it  was  full  of  holes."  There  are  many  other  such 
anecdotes  in  Macculloch's  book,  and  all  who  know  the 
Highlanders  can  corroborate  them.  I  well  remember  a 
family  afflicted  with  scurvy  from  the  use  of  salted  food 
and  the  absence  of  correctives.  An  English  friend  of 
mine  planted  salad  for  them  close  to  their  house,  but 
could  not  induce  them  to  adopt  it;  they  preferred  the 
scurvy. 

This  indolence  is  closely  connected  with  a  certain 
pride — the  kind  of  pride  which  will  not  condescend  to 
ignoble  anxieties  and  occupations.  Macculloch  was  a 
geologist,  and  found  that  a  Highlander  would  willingly 
carry  his  gun,  which  was  a  weapon,  and  therefore  noble, 
but  would  not  so  willingly  carry  his  hammer,  which  he 
handed  to  a  boy.  The  same  temper  is  found  in  the 
Arabs  ;  they  delight  in  everything  that  is  warlike,  they 


144  The  Self-helping  French  Character. 

scorn  everything  industrial  Both  Highlander  and 
Arab  have  a  certain  grandeur  and  nobleness.  I  never 
met  with  a  vulgar  Highlander ;  but  vulgarity  is  very 
prevalent  in  the  industrious  Lowlands.  The  Arab  is  not 
vulgar,  the  Frenchman  often  is. 

The  French  character  is  exactly  the  opposite  of  that 
Highland  character  which  we  have  been  describing 
All  those  minor  cares  which  the  Highlander  despises 
are  the  habitual  occupation  of  the  practical  French 
mind,  which  applies  itself  with  incessant  activity  and 
ingenuity  to  the  solution  of  the  problem,  how  to  make 
the  most  of  the  world  as  man  finds  it ;  how  to  get  the 
most  and  best  food,  drink,  clothing,  out  of  it,  and 
every  sort  of  practical  convenience.  Many  generations 
of  clever  and  ingenious  people  have  left  behind  them 
an  accumulating  tradition  of  practical  skill  in  the  art  of 
living,  the  result  of  the  whole  being  the  French- life  of 
to-day — the  most  complete  life  in  the  world  which  can 
be  had  for  a  moderate  expenditure.  The  Highlander 
lives  on  the  simplest  food,  and  does  not  know  how  to 
make  the  most  of  the  resources  of  his  own  bad  climate. 
He  grows  nothing  in  his  garden  but  cabbages,  though  he 
might  grow  other  vegetables  and  some  fruits  as  easily. 
He  will  not  touch  the  pike  in  the  lochs,  though  it  is  so 
easy  to  catch  them.  The  Frenchman  grows  everything 
he  can,  and  values  eatable  animals  which  the  High- 
lander would  not  taste.  Two  excellent  instances  of  this 
temper  are  the  use  of  vine-snails  and  frogs,  the  first  a 
particularly  nourishing  kind  of  food,  as  substantial  as 
beef- steak,  the  second  a  particularly  delicate  food,  like 
chicken.  The  disposition  to  try  to  make  use  of  every- 


G astronomical  Experiences.  145 

thing  is  often  very  curiously  illustrated.  For  example, 
there  is  a  very  common,  too  common,  weed  which  in- 
vades the  ponds,  to  the  vexation  of  the  proprietors.  It 
is  called  in  botany  Trapa  natans,  but  the  people  here 
call  it  cornueile,  or  chataigne-d 'eau.  The  fruit  of  it  is  a 
sort  of  farinaceous  nut,  very  easily  overlooked  as  a  pos- 
sible article  of  diet ;  but  the  French  peasants  have  not 
overlooked  it  The  culinary  curiosity  of  the  national 
character  is  very  generally  known.  Some  extreme 
instances  of  it  have  come  under  my  own  observation. 
There  was  a  certain  curt,  in  a  very  out-of-the-way  place 
amongst  the  hills,  who  had  a  taste  for  natural  history  and 
for  shooting  at  the  same  time.  He  and  the  village 
notary  used  to  go  out  together,  and  they  killed  all  sorts 
of  creatures — wild  cats,  owls,  foxes,  hawks,  and  every 
description  of  what  gamekeepers  call  vermin.  Neither 
the  curt  nor  the  notary  had  any  prejudices  against  this 
thing  or  that ;  so  they  always  cooked  their  game  with- 
out reference  to  the  species,  and  acquired  by  that  means 
a  most  extraordinary  range  of  experience.  Only  two 
days  before  writing  this  page,  I  was  rambling  with  the 
above-mentioned  notary  by  the  banks  of  a  little  stream, 
when  I  espied  a  water-rat,  and  asked  if  he  had  ever 
eaten  any.  "  Oh,  yes  !  "  he  answered,  with  the  air  of  a 
man  who  remembers  something  agreeable  ;  "  it  is  excel- 
lent ! "  That  reminded  me  of  a  gardener  we  had  some 
time  since,  who  lived  in  a  cottage  in  the  garden  and 
arranged  about  his  own  keep.  He  was  a  great  hunter 
after  water-rats,  and  always  ate  them  ;  not  at  all  in  the 
humour  of  a  man  whose  poverty  consents  against  his 
will,  but  in  the  humour  of  the  angler  who  has  caught  a 

L 


146  Inveterate  Prejudices. 


trout  and  thinks  how  delicious  it  will  be  at  dinner. 
This  readiness  to  use  things  stood  the  Parisians  in  good 
stead  during  the  siege,  when  many  of  them  had  to  live 
upon  rats  and  cats,  and  did  so  with  perfect  appreciation 
of  whatever  qualities  such  meat  may  possess.  Horse- 
flesh, as  the  reader  knows,  is  now  an  important  article 
of  diet  in  Paris.  The  only  inveterate  prejudices  that 
I  have  ever  met  with,  in  these  parts,  were  against 
mutton  and  Jerusalem  artichokes.  The  common 
country  people  will  not  touch  mutton,  though  it  is  used 
in  the  towns,  and  is  of  the  best  possible  quality.*  When 
we  came  into  the  country,  and  consumed  Jerusalem 
artichokes,  we  were  pitied  as  imitations  of  the  prodigal 
son  who  ate  what  was  given  to  the  swine.  There  are 
large  fields  of  that  vigorous  root  for  the  cattle,  and 
hence  the  prejudice.  Gooseberries  are  despised  too, 
and  never  boiled  green,  whilst  rhubarb  is  all  but  un- 
known ;  but,  notwithstanding  these  few  exceptions,  the 
fact  remains,  that  there  is  a  general  willingness  in  the 
middle  classes  to  make  the  most  of  everything.  They 
take  trouble  very  cheerfully  about  household  affairs, 
and  willingly,  in  rather  poor  families,  divide  much 
household  work  amongst  themselves.  The  father  will  do 
the  gardening  and  groom  the  pony  ;  his  wife  will  be  the 
cook  ;  his  daughters  will  keep  all  the  linen  in  order,  and 
*  A  lady,  who  came  from  a  distance,  gave  mutton  to  her 
washerwomen,  which  produced  an  immediate  revolt.  The  wo- 
men were  indignant,  and  said  "Everybody  knows  that  mutton  is 
dirty  meat."  It  is  a  well-ascertained  scientific  fact  that  there  is 
something  in  mutton  which  is  poisonous  for  certain  constitutions, 
and  it  is  highly  probable  that  some  instances  of  th's  kind  have 
produced  this  traditional  prejudice  against  it, — a  prejudice  which 
(of  course)  makes  no  distinction  of  cases. 


Self -Help.  147 

make  their  own  dresses.  On  certain  occasions  all  will 
work  heartily  together — as,  for  instance,  when  the  gar- 
den has  to  be  watered  in  dry  weather.  It  is  easy  to 
sneer  at  such  arrangements ;  but  the  result  of  them 
is,  that  in  such  families  the  daughters  live  at  home 
till  they  are  married,  and  they  have  dowries,  whilst,  if 
such  self-help  were  not  practised,  the  daughters  would 
have  to  go  out  as  governesses  or  sempstresses.  A 
governess  would  probably  be  a  more  cultivated  young 
lady  than  these  are,  but  it  may  be  doubted  if  she  would 
be  happier.  The  father  gains  two  satisfactions  from  his 
way  of  living  ;  he  is  free  from  anxiety  as  to  the  future, 
and  in  the  present  he  keeps  his  daughters  with  him. 
In  England,  a  man  in  the  same  pecuniary  and  social 
position  would  live  up  to  the  edge  of  his  income,  and 
very  probably  die  in  debt,  not  because  things  are  much 
dearer  in  England,  but  because  people  have  not  the  same 
habits  of  self-help.  I  have  no  wish  to  imply  that  such 
habits  are  absolutely  universal  in  rural  France,  but  they 
are  the  rule.  The  exceptions  are  not  often  due  to  any 
bad  cause,  but  rather  to  a  certain  indulgence  in  the  ideal, 
which  is  often  the  sign  of  superior  natures.  This 
indulgence  amongst  rural  French  ladies  runs  invariably 
in  two  channels — devotion  and  fancy-work.  We  know 
examples  of  ladies  in  remote  villages  whose  time  is 
pretty  equally  divided  between  these  two  occupations, 
to  the  neglect  of  their  households,  of  course,  which  are 
left  to  get  on  as  they  can.  The  time  given  to  religion 
in  Protestant  countries  is  limited,  but  in  a  Roman 
Catholic  country  it  may  be  quite  unlimited.  English 
custom  requires  a  lady  to  go  to  church  on  Sunday  and 

L  2 


148  Devotion  and  Fancy-work. 

say  her  prayers  morning  and  evening  on  the  other  days 
of  the  week  ;  but  this  is  not  a  perceptible  loss  of  time, 
even  to  men  of  business.  In  France,  there  is  the  daily 
mass,  which  all  devout  women  attend  when  they  are  not 
too  far  from  the  church  ;  and  there  are  also  many 
special  meditations  and  readings  to  be  attended  to, 
according  to  the  different  religious  seasons,  besides 
occasional  "  retreats  "  into  some  convent,  when  the  ladies 
become  like  nuns  for  a  week  together.  The  constantly 
changing  interests  and  very  strong  contrasts  of  the 
Christian  year,  according  to  the  Church  of  Rome,  are, 
of  themselves,  enough  to  absorb  the  attention  almost 
entirely.  It  may  seem  to  the  reader  an  odd  observa- 
tion that  this  extreme  spirit  of  devotion  is  often  asso- 
ciated with  the  habit  of  doing  fancy-work,  but  it  is  so. 
There  must  be  some  psychological  connection  between 
the  two,  a  connection  which  may  be  discoverable  in  the 
meditative  exercise  of  ideality.  It  may  be  said  that 
fancy-work  is  a  poor  product  of  the  ideal  faculties,  and 
so,  indeed,  it  is  ;  but  feeble  and  uncultivated  powers  can- 
not be  expected  to  produce  anything  better.  Besides,  the 
Church  herself  encourages  fancy-work,  accepting  it  and 
exhibiting  it  in  her  services.  Suppose  the  case  of  a  young 
lady  who  has  the  charge  of  all  the  ecclesiastical  vestments 
belonging  to  the  church  in  her  village.  She  keeps  the 
keys  of  the  drawers  which  contain  them,*  and  looks 
after  them  with  love  and  pride.  Such  a  charge  cannot 
but  elevate  fancy-work  in  her  imagination,  and  make  it 

*  The  quantity  of  things  may  be  imagined,  when  I  say  that  in 
one  instance  the  chest  of  drawers  cost  .£48,  and  is  quite  a  simple 
piece  of  joiners'  work  in  a  place  where  joiners'  wages  are  very  low 


French  and  English  Servants.  149 

seem  almost  sacred.  She  and  her  sister  are  always 
either  occupied  with  their  religious  duties  or  with  such 
minor  forms  of  art  as  embroidery,  crochet,  patchwork, 
&c.,  &c.  The  consequence  is,  that  their  home  is  very 
badly  kept, — so  badly,  that  the  wonder  is  how  any 
creature  but  the  spiders  can  endure  it ;  the  garden  is 
neglected,  the  kitchen  ill  provided,  and  the  table  not 
served  as  it  ought  to  be. 

The  difference  between  French  and  English  servants 
is  one  of  the  most  striking  contrasts  in  all  Europe.  In 
England  they  form  a  caste  apart,  with  its  own  feelings 
and  principles — a  caste  which  lives  in  a  state  of  jealous 
watchfulness  and  readiness  to  resist  encroachments,  con- 
trived with  a  determination  to  maintain  an  unwritten 
law,  and,  whilst  maintaining,  to  strengthen  whatever  in 
it  is  favourable  to  the  independence  of  the  caste,  if, 
indeed,  a  class  of  persons  employed  in  domestic  service 
can  enjoy  anything  but  a  very  relative  independence. 
In  France  this  spirit  seems  to  be  entirely  unknown, 
unless  perhaps  amongst  rich  people's  servants  in  the 
capital.  So  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  observe,  the 
feeling  of  French  servants  in  the  rural  districts  is  quite 
personal, — I  mean  that  it  relates  only  to  the  personal 
connection  between  the  particular  master,  Monsieur  M. 
or  N.,  and  the  particular  servant,  Jean  or  Jacques. 
Neither  of  them  appears  to  be  in  the  least  aware  that 
the  servant  has  any  rights,  but,  if  they  do  not  get  on 
comfortably  together,  they  separate.  When  a  good 
understanding  is  once  formed  between  them,  they  both 
try  to  keep  it  up  by  mutual  frankness,  and  it  generally 
lasts  a  long  time,  often  till  one  or  the  other  dies.  In 


150  French  Servants. 


England  there  is  hardly  any  communication  between 
servants  and  their  masters,  and  they  generally  know 
little  of  each  other.  If  the  master  attempts  to  break 
down  this  reserve,  then  the  servant  will  maintain  it  in 
self-defence  and  from  a  sense  of  propriety,  for  he 
remembers  the  division  of  classes.  After  having  been 
accustomed  to  French  servants,  it  has  happened  to  me 
more  than  once,  in  England,  to  address  English  ones  as 
if  they  had  been  French,  forgetting  for  a  moment  the 
difference  of  usage  in  the  two  countries  and  the  still 
profounder  differences  of  feeling,  but  I  have  always  been 
quickly  recalled  to  a  sense  of  English  propriety  by  the 
expression  of  surprise  on  the  servant's  face,  an  expres- 
sion which  seemed  to  say,  "  If  you,  sir,  forget  your 
station,  I  have  self-respect  enough  to  remember  mine." 
It  is  not  that  in  France  we  are  accustomed  to  behave  in 
any  unbecoming  way  to  servants,  but  the  manner  used 
in  speaking  to  them  is  not  distant  or  cold.  A  French 
servant  likes  his  master  to  make  some  appeal  to  his 
good  feeling  and  intelligence,  and  he  is  generally  ready 
to  answer  such  an  appeal  with  a  lively  and  willing  obedi- 
ence ;  but  a  haughty  master  will  not  get  very  much  out 
of  him.  The  tone  generally  adopted  towards  servants 
in  Burgundy  is  that  of  intelligent  but  not  jocular 
familiarity ;  and  the  best  way  to  be  well  served  is  to 
show  that  you  thoroughly  understand  what  has  to  be 
done,  whilst  you  appreciate  all  proofs  of  skill,  and 
respect  industry  and  endurance.  When  there  is  neglect, 
a  clear  and  detailed  criticism  is  the  best  thing,  for  the 
people  are  generally  intelligent  enough,  though  ignorant. 
They  are  sensitive  to  praise,  which  ought  to  be  given 


Message  from  a  Dying  Man.  151 

freely  from  time  to  time  when  it  is  merited.  With  kind 
and  considerate  treatment  they  become  so  strongly 
attached,  that  it  is  impossible  to  dismiss  them,  and  then 
they  only  leave  you  to  be  either  married  or  buried.  We 
know  an  instance  of  an  old  servant  who  was  dismissed 
for  some  reason,  but  quietly  reappeared  in  the  house  on 
the  following  day  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  saying 
that  it  was  no  use  sending  her  away,  for  she  would  not 
go,  and  she  would  work  without  wages  rather  than  be 
turned  out.  In  most  of  the  houses  we  visit  we  always 
see  the  same  domestics,  whom  we  know  by  name,  and 
always  greet  by  name,  with  a  hearty  bon  jour,  which  is 
cordially  returned.  One  of  our  neighbours  had  a  gar- 
dener, who  fell  into  weak  health  and  at  last  died.  When 
dying,  he  expressed  a  wish  to  be  remembered  to  his 
friends,  whom  he  mentioned.  I  was  one  of  the  persons 
mentioned,  and  was  deeply  touched,  on  receiving  the 
message  of  kindness  from  the  dead,  by  the  thought  that 
in  so  solemn  a  moment  he  had  felt  confidence  in  my 
sense  of  our  human  brotherhood,  and  had  believed  that 
his  farewell  would  be  valued  by  me,  as  it  was  and  is. 
This  little  incident  shows  the  relation  between  classes  ; 
it  shows  how  little  the  domestic  thinks  himself  excluded 
from  sympathy  by  his  servitude.  Yet  he  is  uniformly 
respectful,  though  in  an  easy  and  rather  informal  way. 
His  manners  express  something  of  this  kind,  if  it  is 
possible  to  translate  such  a  subtle  expression  as  that  of 
manners  into  words.  They  seem  to  say,  "  I  will  not 
forget  the  distinction  between  us,  and  will  serve  you 
heartily  so  long  as  you  treat  me  kindly,  but  I  am  not  in 
the  least  afraid  of  you."  The  only  servant  I  ever  had 


152  An  Impudent  Fellow. 

to  find  fault  with  about  his  manners  was  an  old  gar- 
dener called  Pinard,  a  dreadfully  talkative  man,  who  was 
always   patronizing  us,  and  had   an  inordinately  high 
opinion  of  his  own  abilities.     He  reminded  me  very 
much  of  an  intolerable   Irishman  I  once  knew,  for  his 
manners  were  much  more  Irish  than  French.    He  was  the 
most  obstinate,  pig-headed  creature  imaginable,  and  the 
greatest  liar  on  earth,  inventing  stories  without   a  word 
of  truth  in  them — long  stories  which  he  narrated  circum- 
stantially with    a  strong  southern   accent,  which  gave 
them  an  irresistibly  comic  effect.     Some  notion  of  his 
impudence   may  be  gathered  from  the  following  little 
specimen.     He  knew  the  Marchioness  de  MacMahon, 
because  she  had  employed  him  formerly  ;  so,  according 
to  his  own  account,  he  charged  her  to  convey  some  of 
his  own  wise  advice  to  her  uncle,  the  President  of  the 
Republic,  on  his  acceptance  of  office.     This  may  have 
been  one  of  his  inventions,  but  it  may  also  have  been 
true,  for  his  impudence  was  quite  equal  to   such   an 
occasion.     We  had  to  be  continually  putting  him  down. 
He  had  a  patronizing  way  of  calling  me  mon  ami  till  I 
stopped  him,  and  when  he  was   particularly  satisfied 
with  himself  he  would  pat  us  on  the  shoulder  quite 
affectionately.     The  reader,  no  doubt,  wonders  how  we 
could  put  up  with  such  a  being,  but  there  was  a  reason 
which  inclined  us  to  the  utmost  possible  forbearance. 
With  all  his  faults,  old  Pinard  was  the  best  servant,  so 
far  as  work  was  concerned,  whom  we  ever  employed. 
He  worked  so  thoroughly  well,  and  at  the  same  time  so 
very  expeditiously,  whilst  he  kept  at  it  so  steadily  from 
morning  till  night,  that  the  result  was  always  a  new 


A   Case  of  Jealousy.  153 

astonishment  to  us.     It  is  not  at  all  an  exaggeration  to 
say  that  he  did  three  times  as  much  as    ordinary  ser- 
vants do  ;  but  at  last  an  incident  occurred  which  occa- 
sioned a  sudden  outburst  of  his  impudence,  and  he  was 
ordered  off  the  premises  in  five  minutes.      It  was  a 
relief  to  be  rid  of  him,  for  his  gushing  civility  was  un- 
pleasant at  the  best,  but  we  regretted  his  fine  working 
powers  and  his  incessant  industry.     One  thing  wounded 
him  deeply  ;  we  discovered  that  he  did  not  prune  scien- 
tifically, so  we  forbade  him  to  exercise  his  unskill  on 
our  fruit-trees,  and  borrowed  a  very  clever  man  from  a 
neighbour,  who  pruned  admirably.     When  the  clever 
pruner  came,  Pinard  hid  himself  in  the  tool-house  under 
pretext  of  repairing  something,  but  in  reality  to  watch 
his  rival  through  the  open  door.     This  he  did  for  some 
time  in  silence  ;  however,  at  length  he  could  endure  it 
no  longer,  and  put  his  face  out,  pale,  almost  green,  with 
jealousy.     Then  came  such  a  torrent  of  bitter  criticism 
as  no  master  of  the  pruning-knife  was  ever  before  sub- 
jected to !     At  first  we  only  laughed,  and  let  Pinard 
relieve  himself,  believing  that  such  a  relief  might  be 
necessary  to  his  mental  and  bodily  well-being  ;  but,  as 
there  were  no  signs  of  abatement,  we  found  employ- 
ment for  him  out  of  sight  of  his  rival.     One  of  his  most 
remarkable    peculiarities    was    his   great   readiness    in 
assuming  knowledge  about  everything.     He  had  always 
an  answer  ready.     We  have  two  fine  specimens  of  the 
bird-cherry-tree   (Prunus  padus)  which   is     usually    a 
shrub  six  or  eight  feet  high.     Ours  (I  have  just  mea- 
sured them)  are  thirty-two  feet  high,  and  strong  in  pro- 
portion, with  a  great  quantity  of  dense  foliage.     The 


154  Francois. 

plant  is  so  seldom  seen  in  this  luxuriant  development, 
that  our  specimens  embarrass  everybody  except  bota- 
nists, so  I  asked  old  Pinard  what  they  were.  The 
answer  came  without  an  instant's  hesitation,  "Those 
trees,  sir,  are  English  plane-trees  !  "  There  was  a  fine 
temerity,  I  thought,  in  addressing  this  reply  to  an 
Englishman  and  a  landscape-painter. 

A  very  precious  man  to  me  was  Francois.  He  did 
not  stay  with  us  regularly,  but  came  whenever  he  was 
asked  to  come,  and  stayed  many  weeks  at  a  time,  espe- 
cially in  the  summer  weather.  I  never  knew  a  more 
thoroughly  trustworthy,  hard-working  fellow,  and  he 
was  skilful  besides,  being  a  wheelwright  by  trade,  and 
quite  capable  of  making  or  repairing  a  hundred  things 
which  we  have  about  us  in  the  country.  Francois  was 
the  admiration  of  all  the  girls,  for  his  handsome  face 
and  fine,  tall  figure,  and  he  got  married  at  last,  and  set 
up  for  himself  in  an  independent  fashion,  before  which, 
in  the  war  time,  he  was  taken  for  military  duty,  so  it  is 
now  some  years  since  he  worked  for  me,  but  I  shall 
ever  remember  his  good,  ungrudging  service.  He  would 
get  up  when  it  was  light,  and  work  till  it  was  dark  in 
the  evening,  without  haste,  without  rest,  and  always 
maintaining  the  same  pleasant,  cheerful  temper.  He 
worked  just  as  well  in  our  absence  as  when  we  were  at 
home,  at  least  in  things  that  he  understood.  This  man 
reminded  me  very  much  of  "the  little  demons  in  the 
fairy  tale  who  were  always  asking  for  more  to  do. 
Sometimes,  to  quiet  him,  I  ordered  him  to  go  and  sit 
down  somewhere  and  smoke  a  pipe.  His  manners  were 
as  good  as  those  of  old  Pinard  were  insupportable, 


Character  of  Francois.  155 

the  only  deficiency  in  him  being  a  want  of  skill  in 
gardening,  where  Pinard  was  a  proficient.  He  would 
have  been  an  excellent  camp-servant  for  an  expedition 
in  some  thinly  inhabited  country.  I  set  him  to  build 
me  a  hut  in  a  wood,  and  he  did  it  with  great  rapidity 
and  perfect  skill,  not  requiring  any  over-looking  of  a 
minute  kind.  He  was  very  strong  and  courageous,  but 
as  gentle  as  a  woman,  and  I  never  saw  him  lose  his 
quiet  self-possession,  even  in  danger.  I  often  used  to 
think  how  very  different  Francois  was  from  the  fixed 
conception  of  the  French  character  which  prevails  in 
other  countries.  All  his  good  qualities  were  of  the 
kind  which  we  are  apt  to  consider  peculiarly  English. 
His  caution  reminded  me  very  much  of  Yorkshire. 
Whenever  I  told  him  anything  that  he  had  not  had  the 
opportunity  of  verifying  for  himself,  his  answer  never 
went  beyond  an  admission  that  it  might  be  so— never 
implied  certainty  on  his  part  that  it  was  so.  The  form 
of  reply  was  always  the  same,  "  (^a  se  peut  bien,  Mon- 
sieur ! "  He  always  spoke  slowly,  and  after  mature 
deliberation,  marking  the  deliberation  by  the  phrase, 
"  J'ai  penseV"  For  example,  "  J'ai  pense",  Monsieur,  que, 
si  nous  faisions  les  rayons  comme  vous  m'avez  dit  hier, 
il  ne  nous  resterait  peut-etre  pas  assez  de  bon  bois  pour 
faire  une  porte."  And  it  always  turned  out  that,  when 
he  began  anything  with  "j'ai  penseY*  what  followed  was 
just  the  accurate  truth  about  the  matter.  Notwith- 
standing his  professional  accomplishments  as  a  wheel- 
wright and  rough  joiner,  Francois  was  always  quite 
willing  to  turn  his  hand  to  anything  that  had  to  be 
done,  though  his  skill  did  not  always  equal  his  willing- 


156  Dangerous  Carelessness. 

ness.  It  is,  of  course,  always  so  with  a  country  ser- 
want  who  has  to  do  many  different  things,  he  cannot  do 
everything  well.  But  Francois  had  the  great  advantage 
over  most  others,  that,  if  not  always  skilful,  he  was 
never  careless,  and  the  more  he  distrusted  his  own 
knowledge  the  more  careful  he  became.  He  spoke  a 
simple  kind  of  French,  but  very  pure,  without  mixture 
either  of  patois  or  vulgarisms.  Of  course  he  knew  the 
patois  of  the  country,  but  kept  it  separate  for  use,  when 
necessary,  with  the  peasantry.  In  this  he  resembled  a 
Scotch  Highlander,  whose  English  is  kept  separate 
from  his  Gaelic.  I  never  heard  Frangois  swear,  and  I 
never  once  heard  him  make  use  of  certain  expressions 
which  are  quite  common,  even  amongst  the  bourgeois, 
but  which  are  offensive  to  good  taste.  He  was  always 
polite,  but  in  a  plain,  easy  way  of  his  own,  and  he 
behaved  exactly  in  the  same  way  to  people  of  all  classes. 
There  was  a  fund  of  quiet  humour  in  his  character, 
which  showed  itself  mostly  by  a  peculiar  twinkle  in  his 
eye,  when  he  heard  of  something  ridiculous.*  He 
talked  little,  but  sometimes,  when  we  worked  together 
at  the  hut  or  a  boat,  he  would  tell  me  a  story,  always 
marked  by  a  touch  of  humour  and  accompanied  by 
that  twinkle  of  light  in  the  eye. 

I  rather  think  that  in  this  neighbourhood  the  men  are 
generally  more  careful  than  the  women,  and  require  less 
looking  after ;  but  I  remember  one  instance  of  careless- 
ness which  is  worth  telling.  We  had  a  young  wild 
thing  to  drag  a  light  pony-carriage,  so  she  took  fright 
occasionally,  and  more  than  once  she  smashed  the  little 
carriage  to  pieces.  After  each  of  these  accidents  she 


Female  Servants.  157 


was  so  wild  that  it  was  impossible  to  harness  her  to 
ary  ordinary  vehicle,  but  I  had  a  rough  two-wheeled 
machine  to  carry  a  boat,  consisting  simply  of  a  pair  of 
very  long  shafts,  and  axle,  and  two  wheels.  Cocotte, 
the  little  mare,  was  harnessed  to  this  in  her  worst  times, 
and  driven  till  she  got  tired  and  reasonable  again,  On 
one  of  these  occasions  I  told  a  man  to  grease  the  axles 
before  we  started,  and  being  busy  writing  did  not  look 
after  him  myself,  but  simply  came  out  and  took  the 
reins  when  all  was  announced  as  ready.  Away  we  went 
like  the  wind,  and,  after  a  drive  more  resembling  an 
antique  chariot-ract  than  anything  in  ordinary  experi- 
ence, we  came  back  home  again.  I  then  discovered,  to 
my  horror,  that,  after  greasing  the  wheels,  the  man  had 
forgotten  to  put  the  linch-pins  into  their  places,  and  had 
left  them  on  a  stone  in  the  farm-yard.  It  is  wonderful 
that  we  did  not  lose  a  wheel — if  we  had  lost  one,  the 
consequences  would  have  been  serious,  and  the  man 
himself  would  have  suffered  most,  for  he  sat  on  a  board 
with  his  legs  dangling,  so  that  they  would  certainly  have 
been  broken.  I,  too,  was  to  blame  for  not  having  fol- 
lowed the  injunctions  of  a  certain  French  hostler,  who 
used  to  say,  "  Passez  la  revue,  Monsieur,  passez  toujours 
la  revue,  et  examinez  tous  les  details  avant  de  monter 
en  voiture." 

Female  servants  in  this  part  of  the  world  are 
generally  good-tempered,  and  become  strongly  at- 
tached when  they  are  kindly  treated ;  but,  although 
they  have  nice  quiet  manners  which  would  lead  you 
to  think  that  they  had  some  refinement  of  perception, 
they  are  incapable  of  that  delicacy  of  observation 


158  Intelligent  Activity  of  Ladies. 

which  is  necessary  to  a  good  cook,  and  even  to  a 
trustworthy  housemaid.  They  come  generally  from 
peasants'  houses,  where  there  is  nothing  that  can  be 
called  cookery,  and  where  everything  is  so  rough  and 
strong  that  they  can  do  but  little  harm  by  knocking 
things  together  accidentally.  Whenever  there  is  any 
refinement  in  house  matters  in  the  country  in  the 
middle  classes,  it  is  sure  to  be  due  to  the  intelligence 
and  activity  of  the  lady  of  the  house  herself.  The 
ladies  are  almost  always  more  or  less  scientific  house 
managers,  and  able  to  do  everything  which  a  servant 
ought  to  do,  with  far  superior  intelligence  and  skill. 
La  Maison  Rustique  des  Dames,  by  Madame  Millet- 
Robinet,  exhibits  this  scientific  activity  in  its  full  per- 
fection, and  the  extensive  sale  of  the  work  in  France 
has  done  much  to  form  a  class  of  ladies  who  apply 
to  everything  which  concerns  the  management  of  a 
country  house  exactly  the  same  spirit  of  scientific 
intelligence  and  well-directed  personal  energy  which 
an  educated  and  zealous  officer  will  give  to  the  welfare 
of  his  men,  and  to  the  duties  which  he  and  they  have 
to  perform  together.  Nothing  can  be  more  admirable 
than  this  temper  and  intelligence  in  the  ladies.  They 
go  through  their  household  duty  without  having  the 
weakness  to  imagine  that  anything  can  degrade  them 
which  is  of  importance  to  the  health  and  well-being 
of  the  family,  but  they  generally  complain  that  the 
women  require  incessant  looking  after,  that,  when  they 
have  done  a  thing  a  hundred  times  well  under  the  eye 
of  the  mistress,  they  will  do  it  badly  the  hundred 
and  first  time,  if  the  mistress  happens  to  be  absent. 


Peasant  Girls.  159 


The  peasant-girls,  they  say,  can  never  be  taught 
to  cook,  except  under  constant  direction,  neither 
can  they  ever  be  trusted  to  wash  valuable  china  or 
glass.  One  reason  for  this  is  probably  that  people 
keep  so  few  servants,  and  so  it  is  impossible  to  establish 
a  sufficient  division  of  labour.  These  peasant-girls 
will  break  a  thin  wine-glass,  and  miss  the  right  instant 
for  removing  a  pan  from  the  fire,  but  for  rough  hard 
work  they  are  excellent.  They  will  dig  the  garden, 
wash  the  carriage,  harness  the  horse,  fetch  water,  carry 
weights,  and  all  in  the  merriest,  most  good-tempered 
way,  so  that  the  harder  they  have  to  work,  the  more 
you  hear  them  laugh  and  sing ;  but  refined  work  is  not 
their  speciality.  They  are  often  extremely  clean  about 
their  persons,  and  maintain  a  general  decency  of  ap- 
pearance which  blooms  on  festival  days  into  the 
coquetterie  of  a  village  belle.  They  wait  very  nicely 
at  table,  which  may  seem  rather  contradictory  to  what 
has  just  been  said  of  their  incapacity  to  learn  things 
requiring  delicate  observation ;  but  their  good  waiting 
is  due  to  their  natural  politeness  and  great  willingness 
to  offer  little  attentions.  Once  in  a  house  where  they 
are  kindly  treated,  they  become  attached  to  it,  and  will 
not  think  of  leaving  until  they  get  married.  Ours 
never  leave  us  until  their  wedding-day,  when  the  bride- 
groom comes,  preceded  by  a  fiddler  all  in  ribbons,  and 
takes  them  to  the  village  church,  after  which  they  still 
belong  to  us  as  reserve  forces.  I  have  sometimes  seen 
an  old  servant  come  to  pay  us  a  call,  and  quietly  set 
to  work  just  as  if  she  had  still  been  in  our  service, 
without  being  asked.  Mistresses  often  treat  them 


160  Contemptuous    Ways. 

quite  affectionately,  and  it  does  not  spoil  them,  but 
the  contrary.  I  have  more  than  once  seen  a  lady  kiss 
the  servant  on  leaving  a  house,  and  kind  regards  are 
sent  to  servants  in  letters  just  as  if  they  were  members 
of  the  family.  This  seems  more  human  than  the  cold 
English  way  of  ignoring  the  existence  of  servants  or 
the  possibility  of  their  having  any  feelings  ;  but  when 
French  people  are  very  proud,  which  sometimes  hap- 
pens, they  adopt  a  distinctly  contemptuous  manner 
towards  servants,  more  disagreeable  than  English  cold- 
ness. The  tu,  which  is  used  from  affection  to  children, 
is  sometimes  used  from  contempt  to  servants,  by  per- 
sons who  affect  to  preserve  the  traditions  of  the  ancien 
regime.  This  tu  of  contempt  has  always  seemed  to 
me  perfectly  monstrous,  and  if  I  were  a  servant  I 
would  not  remain  in  a  house  where  it  is  used.  People 
who  employ  it  have  always  at  the  same  time  a  tone  of 
contemptuous  familiarity,  a  thousand  times  more  un- 
bearable than  the  distant  reserve  of  the  rich  English- 
man. On  the  whole,  I  think  the  French  ways  of  treat- 
ing servants  best  in  small  establishments,  where  there 
is  no  pretension  ;  but,  when  there  is  any  pride  of  state, 
the  English  system,  of  complete  separation  between 
the  class  which  serves  and  the  class  which  is  served, 
may  be  more  agreeable  to  both  parties.  French  people 
tell  me  that,  in  great  establishments  in  France,  a  class 
of  domestics  exists  which  has  not  the  qualities  of  those 
simple-minded  country  servants  whom  I  have  just  been 
attempting  to  describe,  but  then  there  are  so  few  great 
establishments.  The  increase  in  the  expense  of  living 
which  has  marked  the  last  ten  years  is  reducing 


Tendency  to  American  Habits.  161 

establishments  still  farther,  and  many  respectable  pro 
fessional  people,  or  small  proprietors  and  fundholders, 
who  live  where  rents  are  high,  are  now  trying  the 
experiment  of  doing  altogether  without  servants. 
The  tendency  in  France  is  not  towards  English,  but 
towards  American  habits ;  the  Frenchman  does  not 
dream  of  some  perfectly  appointed  English  house, 
with  a  trained  domestic  for  each  duty,  but  rather  of 
some  ingenious  machine  at  home,  and  a  restaurant 
next  door,  which  would  relieve  him  from  the  costliness 
of  'bonnes.  Let  us  hope,  however,  that  the  bonne  will 
never  be  totally  extinguished,  whatever  she  may  cost. 
It  may  be  possible,  though  difficult,  to  invent  a  machine 
which  will  do  her  work,  but  it  is  not  possible  to  pro 
duce  fidelity  and  devotion  by  machinery. 


M 


1 62 


CHAPTER   IX 

Life  in  a  little  French  town — Contented  felicity — Indolent  intel- 
lectualism — Pleasant  surroundings  of  a  French  town — Gardens 
inside  it — Diurnal  sociability — Extreme  instances — Constant 
alcoholic  stimulus  —Self-restriction — Effects  on  health — Waste 
of  time — The  caft — Its  social  value — Independence  of  each 
visitor — Cafh  not  merely  drinking-places — The  sort  of  society 
to  be  found  there — Temptation  to  drink,  but  no  pressure — 
Clubs — How  little  clubs  are  managed — Importance  of  poli- 
tical opinions  in  them — Kindness  and  attention  in  a  club — 
Lightness  of  club  talk — Ladies  object  to  caf/s  and  clubs — 
Influence  of  ladies  in  little-town-life — Their  own  existence — 
Difficulty  of  masculine  talk  in  their  presence — Examples — 
Habits  and  conduct  of  provincial  ladies — Foreign  opinion 
unjust  to  them. 

WE  have  said  nothing  hitherto  about  the  manners  and 
customs  of  a  little  French  town,  and  yet  the  town  has 
its  own  life,  which  is  very  distinct  from  that  of  the 
country  houses  eight  or  ten  miles  away,  and  well  worth 
studying  on  its  own  account. 

It  is  almost  a  proverb  amongst  French  people  that 
la  vie  de  petite  ville  is  ruinous  to  men — or,  rather,  for  I 
have  a  difficulty  in  rinding  a  precise  equivalent  for  the 
French  expression  about  the  matter — that  it  arrests  the 
development  of  energy  and  paralyzes  ambition.  This 
kind  of  life  is  not  generally,  or  often,  ruinous  in  the 
sense  of  producing  spendthrifts,  for  those  who  share  it 


Contented  Felicity.  163 


live  generally  within  their  means,  but  it  has  an  evil  effect' 
in  making  men  stop  far  short  of  their  possibilities. 

A  little  French  city  easily  becomes  a  lotos-land  of 
good  eating  and  drinking  and  incessant  small-talk  for 
men  who  are  either  independent  in  fortune,  or  who  have 
professions  which  will  keep  them  without  being  very 
assiduously  pursued.  La  vie  de petite  mile,  is  for  men  so 
situated,  the  very  realization  of  that  contented  felicity 
which  philosophers  have  so  often  dreamed  of  and  so 
rarely  enjoyed.  It  is  so  very  complete  in  itself,  it  satis- 
fies so  entirely  all  wants  both  of  body  and  mind  which 
the  average  Frenchman  feels,  that  he  readily  becomes 
attached  to  it,  and  sinks  in  it  all  ambition,  all  vain 
striving  after  wealth  or  fame,  all  eagerness  to  travel  in 
other  lands,  to  study  other  languages,  to  concern  himself 
with  things  remote  in  either  space  or  time.  It  is  an 
existence  incompatible  with  greatness,  but  most  con- 
ducive to  the  happiness  of  the  passing  day  and  hour.  A 
stern  and  strenuous  moralist  would  condemn  it  for  the 
absence  of  noble  effort,  but  he  ought,  if  consistent,  to 
condemn  equally  the  self-indulgence  of  people  who  live 
comfortably  on  their  own  means  in  England  and  else- 
where, and  have  no  higher  aim  than  the  satisfaction  of 
their  own  tastes,  although  their  tastes  may  seem  more 
exalted  simply  because  they  are  more  expensive,  and 
include  more  locomotion,  and  the  search  for  more  various 
impressions. 

The  sort  of  little-town-life  which  I  shall  now  attempt 
to  describe  is  best  enjoyed  by  a  bachelor  with  a  private 
fortune  of  about  £300  a  year,  and  a  profession  which 
increases  it  a  little,  whilst  it  just  affords  enough  serious 

M  2 


164  Indolent  Intellectualism. 

occupation  to  give  zest  to  many  hours  of  leisure,  and 
keeps  him  in  frequent  communication  with  mankind, 
and  gives  him  a  knowledge  of  their  affairs.  He  may  be 
a  barrister  or  a  notary,  for  example,  not  encumbered 
with  much  practice,  yet  having  just  so  much  to  do  that 
the  profession  may  have  at  least  an  ideal  importance  in 
his  life,  and  save  him  from  the  ennui  of  a  complete 
desceuvremcnt.  He  ought  to  be  fairly  well  educated,  so 
as  to  enjoy  in  an  indolent  way  the  conversation  of  the 
most  intelligent  idlers  in  the  place ;  for  although  there  is 
not  much  industry  in  the  little  society  he  lives  in,  neither, 
on  the  other  hand,  is  there  any  blank  stupidity,  and 
although  the  conversation  is  generally  light  enough  in 
manner,  it  often  runs  into  arguments  which  require 
considerable  information  in  the  friendly  combatants,  so 
that  a  perfectly  ignorant  talker  would  find  himself 
excluded.  I  dwell  the  more  willingly  on  the  intellectual 
side  of  little-town-life  that  it  is  generally  ignored  by 
foreign  critics,  from  the  total  absence  of  pedantry  in 
the  speakers.  They  do  not  meet  for  intellectual  pur- 
poses, and  they  often  pass  whole  evenings  together 
without  talking  anything  better  than  the  gossip  of  the 
neighbourhood,  but  every  now  and  then  they  become 
an  animated,  and  by  no  means  uninteresting,  debating 
club.  At  these  times  they  are  very  like  the  talkative 
inhabitants  of  some  old  Greek  city,  with  the  difference 
that  such  French  talk  is  merely  critical  in  a  provincial 
town,  and  has  no  influence  on  the  course  of  affairs. 

The  long  warm  summers  and  the  pleasant  surroundings 
of  a  rural  French  town  have  aided  in  the  formation  of 
these  habits.  There  are  the  avenues  to  walk  under — fine 


Pleasant  Surroundings.  165 

avenues  of  elm,  or  linden,  or  oriental  plane-tree,  the 
green  seats  to  rest  upon  and  talk,  the  cafh  close  by, 
with  their  tables  and  chairs  outside  on  the  broad  trottoir, 
the  club-rooms  upstairs,  with  their  open  windows  and 
balconies,  from  which  you  have  perhaps  a  view  of  hill  or 
wood,  or  winding  river.  Then  there  is  nothing  particu- 
larly disagreeable  in  the  little  town  itself — no  coal- 
smoke,  no  rows  of  especially  ugly  houses,  but  the  old 
streets  are  quaintly  picturesque,  and  the  new  boulevard 
is  bright  and  gay,  so  that  one  can  walk  pleasantly  any- 
where. And  the  country  is  so  near,  all  round  !  In  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  you  have  passed  the  old  walls,  and 
are  in  it,  amongst  the  gardens.  There  are  gardens,  too, 
in  the  heart  of  the  little  city  itself ;  the  doctor  walks  in 
his  garden,  and  plucks  a  peach,  between  the  visits  oi 
two  patients ;  the  banker's  counting-house  is  in  his 
garden,  and  he  walks  about  amongst  his  flowers,  which 
refresh  his  mind  with  other  thoughts  than  that  eternal 
money.  Little-town-life,  all  through  the  summer,  is 
much  more  endurable  than  existence  in  the  heated 
capital ;  there  are  so  many  shady  nooks,  so  many  bowers 
of  greenery  with  little  tables  and  chairs,  and  it  is  so 
easy  to  put  cooling  drinks  upon  those  tables,  and  lounge 
away  the  hours  upon  those  chairs!  There,  with  un- 
limited Strasburg  beer,  and  abundant  tobacco,  the 
Frenchman  enjoys  the  height  of  his  earthly  felicity, 
in  the  soft  air  of  a  southern  summer  evening. 

So  far  there 'is  no  harm  done.  It  is  possible  to  work 
very  hard  all  day,  and  then  spend  the  evening  in  a 
garden  with  sociable  friends,  drinking  good  Strasburg 
beer,  without  injury  either  to  health  or  fortune.  Many  a 


1 66  Little-town-life. 


man  keeps  himself  strictly  within  the  limit,  dedicating 
the  day  to  business  and  the  evening  to  conversation. 
But  little-town-life  becomes  dangerous  when  sociable 
people  take  to  meeting  very  much  in  the  day-time. 
Suppose,  for  instance,  that  a  little  circle  of  friends  meet 
together  every  afternoon  at  the  cafe  to  take  absinthe 
before  dint  er,  or  bitters,  as  a  preparation.  Many  do  so; 
many  meet  between  four  and  five  o'clock,  and  sit  drink- 
ing and  smoking  till  six,  when  they  go  to  dine.  Evi- 
dently it  would  be  better  for  their  health  to  take  a  walk. 
But  these  are  not  by  any  means  the  worst  examples  of 
what  little-town-life  sometimes  leads  to. 

The  extreme  instances  of  these  sociable  habits  in 
their  full  development  are  the  men,  who,  on  getting  up 
in  the  morning,  go  straight  to  a  cafe"  for  a  glass  of  white 
wine,  which  means  half  a  bottle,  or  sometimes  a  bottle. 
Whilst  drinking  this,  or  immediately  after,  they  smoke 
one  or  two  pipes  or  cigars.  The  conversation  lasts 
some  time,  they  take  a  little  turn,  or  if  they  have  any- 
thing to  do  before  dejetiner,  perhaps  they  may  decide  to 
do  it.  It  is  possible  (we  are  supposing  an  extreme 
case)  that  absinthe  may  be  considered  needful  to  pre- 
pare the  system  for  the  work  of  digestion,  which  is  a 
reason  for  returning  to  the  caft.  The  dejetiner  itself  is 
a  great  gastronomical  piece  of  business,  if  the  man  is 
an  epicure  ;  and  during  the  course  of  it  he  will  drink  his 
bottle  of  wine.  Then  he  will  return  to  the  cafe"  for  his 
cup  of  coffee  and  little  glass  of  pure  cognac.  After 
that  he  smokes,  talks,  lounges,  does  a  little  business  of 
some  kind,  is  surprised  to  find  that  it  is  already  four 
o'clock,  and  time  to  meet  his  friends  at  the  cafe1  again  to 


Extreme  Instances.  167 

drink  beer,  or  absinthe,  or  bitters.  Dinner  comes  next, 
and  during  dinner  another  bottle  of  wine  is  absorbed. 
After  that  meal,  our  friend  returns  to  the  caft,  and  talks, 
or  plays  billiards,  cards,  or  dominoes  till  eleven,  smoking 
most  of  the  time  and  drinking  Strasburg  beer. 

We  will  leave  out  of  consideration  for  the  present 
the  gastronomical  part  of  such  an  existence,  which  is 
not  the  least  anxiously  cared  for.  The  reader  perceives 
that  the  habits  just  described  keep  a  man  in  a  state  of 
perpetual  alcoholic  stimulus.  One  drink  has  not  ex- 
hausted its  effect  before  it  is  succeeded  by  another,  and 
this  from  eight  or  nine  in  the  morning  till  eleven  o'clock, 
at  night.  A  series  of  small  customs  have  so  arranged 
themselves  as  a  tradition  from  other  bon-vivants  who 
have  gone  before,  that  by  simple  conformity  to  these  a 
man  may  be  constantly  alcoholized.  The  reader  is  not 
to  suppose  for  a  moment  that  such  a  Frenchman  as  I 
am  now  describing  is  ever  drunk,  in  any  degree  per- 
ceptible to  other  people.  He  has  always  so  perfectly 
the  control  of  his  reason  that  it  even  becomes  doubtful 
whether  he  feels  any  pleasure  from  his  drinking.  Per- 
haps he  feels  no  other  sensations  than  those  of  the 
normal  physical  life,  but  the  white  wine,  absinthe,  red 
wine,  coffee,  cognac,  beer,  bitters,  red  wine  again,  beer 
again  till  bed-time,  have  become  necessary  to  prevent 
him  from  sinking  into  mental  dejection  or  physical 
prostration.  The  effect  upon  health,  provided  only 
that  the  slave  of  these  habits  does  not  smoke  inces- 
santly, and  does  not  take  absinthe  more  than  once  a 
day,  is  imperceptible  in  strong  men  for  many  years,  and 
at  the  worst  only  seems  to  necessitate  an  annual  trip  to 


1 68  Effect  on  Health. 

take  some  kind  of  waters.  It  is  probable  that  a  deli- 
cate or  studious  person  would  soon  find  that  this  way 
of  life  did  not  suit  him,  and,  if  wise,  he  would  establish 
private  rules  for  his  own  guidance.  Many  do  so  and 
take  a  certain  limited  share  in  little-town-life  without 
ever  going  beyond.  Either  they  are  never  to  be  seen 
in  a  cafe  during  the  day,  or  else  you  will  never  find 
them  there  in  the  evening.  Others  are  members  of  a 
club,  and  visit  it  once  every  two  or  three  days.  Others, 
again,  and  these  by  no  means  the  least  sociable,  never 
enter  such  a  place  as  a  club  or  a  cafe  at  all,  but  meet  at 
each  other's  houses  on  fixed  evenings,  when  some  very 
mild  kind  of  drinking  goes  on,  and  cigars  are  offered, 
or  pipes  produced,  but  both  are  used  in  moderation. 
The  natural  sociability  and  cordiality  of  Frenchmen 
make  little-town-life  very  charming  when  you  happen 
to  get  into  an  intelligent  set  Even  its  worst  faults 
are  due  more  to  sociability  than  to  love  of  tippling. 

The  effect  on  health  of  these  habits  is  so  imper- 
ceptible to  an  outsider  that  it  is  difficult  to  take  it  into 
account  unless  one  reasoned  as  temperance  lecturers 
always  seem  to  do  by  taking  the  destruction  of  health 
for  granted,  as  an  inevitable  consequence,  and  then 
reasoning  from  it  as  an  admitted  postulate.  Of  course 
when  health  is  destroyed  by  these  habits  it  is  an  argu- 
ment against  them  in  those  particular  instances,  and 
you  may  even  go  farther  and  say  that  there  is  a  possi- 
bility of  danger  to  those  who  do  not  yet  feel  themselves 
affected,  but  the  destruction  of  health  is  not  a  certain 
consequence.  The  evil  which  is  certain  is  the  enormous 
waste  of  time.  Little-town-life  naturally  leads  to  this. 


Value  of  Caf/s.  169 

The  day  is  broken  up  by  pleasant  little  causeries  at  the 
caft,  under  the  linden-trees,  anywhere,  and  the  whole 
of  the  evening  is  given  to  billiards  or  conversation.  It 
is  simply  impossible  to  pursue  a  profession  or  any  pri- 
vate study  seriously  without  very  strictly  limiting  one's 
contact  with  a  society  of  this  kind.  The  great  labours 
by  which  many  Frenchmen  have  distinguished  them- 
selves were  not  compatible  with  little-town-life.  It  did 
not  produce  Littr^'s  Dictionary. 

Before  leaving  this  subject  altogether  it  seems  neces- 
sary to  say  a  few  words  about  caf/s  and  clubs.  The 
caft,  when  used  and  not  abused,  seems  to  me  one  of 
the  most  valuable  of  continental  institutions.  It  offers 
the  easiest,  cheapest,  and  most  independent  way  of 
enjoying  the  most  intelligent  society  in  a  town.  You 
order  a  cup  of  coffee,  or  a  glass  of  beer,  and  are  free  of 
the  place  till  eleven  at  night,  with  as  good  a  right  to  be 
there  as  the  oldest  habitue.  It  is  this  independence  of 
each  person  present  which  makes  conversation  better 
worth  listening  to  in  a  caft  than  ft  usually  is  in  draw- 
ing-rooms, where  there  is  too  much  deference  to  the 
lady  of  the  house  for  opinions  to  be  frankly  expressed  ; 
or  in  dining-rooms,  where  the  host  exercises  a  too 
preponderating  influence.  In  the  cafe  your  own  chair, 
and  a  few  inches  round  it,  are  your  private  territory, 
from  whence  you  can  express  your  real  opinions  with 
the  most  absolute  freedom.  Good  manners  may  some- 
times lose  by  this  independence — contradiction  may 
sometimes  be  more  sharp  than  polite,  more  energetic 
than  considerate ;  but  amongst  men  who  like  to  be  able 
to  say  what  they  really  think,  and  to  hear  the  real 


170  Society  in  Caf/s. 


opinions  of  others,  the  independence  of  each  speaker 
gives  a  great  value  to  conversation.  It  is  a  mistake  to 
look  upon  cafh  merely  as  drinking  places  or  billiard 
saloons.  In  France  they  exist  for  conversation,  and 
the  best  conversation  in  the  country  is  to  be  found  in  , 
them  by  those  who  know  where  the  most  intelligent 
groups  are  accustomed  to  meet.  It  is  just  possible  that 
the  reader,  if  not  himself  used  to  continental  ways, 
may  believe  that  what  is  called  "  good  society  "  is  not 
to  be  found  in  these  places,  where  any  working  man 
may  sit  down  and  smoke  his  pipe.  You  certainly  will 
not,  in  a  provincial  town,  meet  any  one  in  a  cafe  who 
considers  himself  a  particularly  great  personage — you 
will  not  meet  the  bishop  there,  nor  the  prefect,  nor  the 
head-master  of  the  lycfe,  nor  the  chief  justice,  nor  will 
you  meet  any  great  nobleman  either  ;  but  you  may 
meet  the  cleverest  professional  men,  and  if  you  are  one 
of  the  many  who  esteem  rich  men's  opinions  as  more 
valuable  and  instructive  than  the  opinions  of  those  who 
are  not  capitalists,  you  may  be  enlightened  by  the 
wisdom  of  a  banker  who  has  his  million  of  francs,  or 
a  country  squire  who  has  its  equivalent  in  arable  land 
and  forest.  Those  whose  too  great  dignity  of  position 
excludes  them  from  the  cafe  are  not  the  wiser  for  their 
exclusion,  but  miss  a  good  deal  of  acute  free  criticism 
which  might  be  of  use  to  them,  and  make  them  not 
live  quite  so  much  up  in  a  balloon.  The  advocate  of 
temperance  will  object  that  there  is  a  great  temptation 
to  drink  in  such  places.  There  may  be  temptation, 
but  there  is  hardly  any  pressure.  An  acquaintance 
will  invite  you  to  share  his  bottle  of  beer  when  it  is  just 


Clubs.  171 

uncorked,  but  if  you  decline  he  will  not  press  you,  nor 
will  the  master  of  the  establishment  ever  ask  you  to 
order  anything  if  he  knows  you.  A  teetotaler  might 
order  his  cup  of  coffee,  and  have  all  the  conversational 
advantages  of  the  place.  It  is,  however,  not  to  be 
denied  that  the  agreeableness  of  cafts  often  proves  too 
strong  an  attraction  for  Frenchmen,  so  that  at  last  they 
cannot  be  happy  anywhere  else,  but  continually  fly 
back  to  them  and  idle  away  all  their  time  there. 

Clubs  exist  all  over  France  ;  they  are  often  connected, 
for  convenience,  with  a  public  caft  in  this  way : — The 
club-rooms  are  over  the  cafe,  the  keeper  of  which 
supplies  waiters  and  refreshments  to  the  members  of  the 
club,  who  by  this  arrangement  escape  from  the  incon- 
venience of  having  to  keep  servants  and  lay  in  provisions 
of  their  own.  This  system  workb  quite  perfectly,  and 
permits  the  comfortable  existence  of  very  small  clubs — 
a  matter  of  some  importance,  as  under  the  present  laws 
a  club  is  much  more  independent  if  it  consists  of  less 
than  twenty  members — a  large  one  being  always  subject 
to  dissolution  at  the  will  of  the  prefect.  There  are 
often  a  good  many  clubs  in  a  provincial  town,  each 
composed  of  people  who  can  get  on  together  amicably. 
A  certain  unanimity  of  sentiment  is  much  more  essential 
in  a  French  club  than  in  an  English  one,  because  the 
Frenchman  goes  to  his  club  for  society,  the  English- 
man for  silence.  The  French  club,  is  in  fact,  nothing 
but  a  cafe,  to  which  only  certain  known  persons  are 
admitted,  just  as  the  cafe  is  a  club  to  which  everybody 
is  admitted.  One  French  club,  well  known  to  me,  was 
suddenly  split  into  two  parts  by  a  difference  of  opinion 


172  Politics  in  Clubs. 

about  the  propriety  of  illuminating  on  a  public  occasion, 
and  nearly  half  the  members  quitted  it  in  a  single  day. 
In  clubs  which  exist  for  conversation  it  is  impossible 
not  to  talk  politics,  and  political  divisions  in  France  are 
too  serious  for  opposite  parties  to  get  on  together  on 
the  common  ground  of  simple  politeness.  Thus  in  our 
city  we  have  a  legitimist  club,  composed  of  the  nobility 
and  a  few  legitimist  commoners,  and  two  republican 
clubs,  one  composed  of  professional  men,  chiefly  lawyers, 
and  the  other  for  the  most  part  of  tradesmen.  The 
reader  will  easily  understand  that  it  would  be  impos- 
sible for  a  republican  to  remain  long  a  member  of  the 
legitimist  club,  because  he  would  either  have  to  affect 
acquiescence  in  legitimist  talk  or  else  live  in  perpetual 
hot  water.  One  of  my  legitimist  friends  very  kindly 
offered  to  have  me  elected,  although  well  aware  how 
little  I  agreed  with  him;  but  whilst  you  may  have 
intimate  and  even  dear  friends  whose  opinions  are 
strongly  opposed  to  your  own,  and  associate  with  them 
quite  easily  by  mutual  delicacy  and  forbearance,  it  is  not 
so  pleasant  to  be  with  people  who  are  restrained  by  no 
considerations  of  friendship  from  saying  everything 
that  is  evil  of  the  men  and  measures  which  seem  to 
you  most  worthy  of  approval,  whilst  they  resent  every 
attempt  to  defend  them.  After  that  I  was  elected 
honorary  member  of  a  moderate  republican  club, 
composed,  as  I  have  just  said,  chiefly  of  professional 
men,  but  including  one  or  two  bankers,  country  gentle- 
men, &c.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  kindness  and 
cordiality  which  have  always  been  shown  to  me  by  the 
members  of  this  club  ;  indeed  I  hardly  know  how  to  give 


Friendly  Politeness.  173 

a  complete  idea  of  it  to  the  English  reader  without 
entering  into  details  which  would  afford  to  an  ill- 
natured  reviewer  an  opportunity  for  a  sneer  about 
gratified  vanity.  The  reader  knows  what  the  French 
phrase  tres  entonre"  means.  When  a  deputy  has  made 
a  speech  in  the  Assembly  which  is  much  approved  of 
by  his  friends,  they  crowd  round  him  to  shake  hands. 
The  same  thing  is  done  in  a  club  when  the  members 
wish  to  make  an  honorary  member  particularly  welcome 
on  his  occasional  visits.  I  have  often  observed,  too, 
that  they  will  leave  off  a  game  which  interests  them  if 
he  does  not  join  it,  in  order  to  make  a  circle  round 
the  fire  to  talk  about  something  which  interests  him. 
Besides  this,  a  theory  was  broached  in  our  club,  and 
for  a  long  time  steadily  maintained  in  practice,  that 
an  honorary  member  ought  to  be  entertained  at  the 
expense  of  the  others;  that  is,  supplied  with  unlimited 
cigars  and  Strasburg  beer,  or  whatever  else ,  it  pleased 
him  to  accept.  A  club  of  this  kind  is,  in  fact,  as  its 
French  name  implies,  a  circle — almost  a  sort  of  family 
circle.  The  talk  is  always  good-humoured,  and  there 
is  no  end  to  it;  but  an  Englishman's  feeling  after  a 
while  is,  that  it  is  a  pity  so  much  wit  and  insight  cannot 
be  ballasted  with  just  a  little  more  earnestness.  The 
incessant  laughing  at  everything,  and  at  everybody 
celebrated  enough  to  be  talked  about,  is  tiresome  to 
an  Englishman,  who  cannot  help  wondering  how  his 
French  friends  can  live  always  on  these  champagne 
bubbles.  We  may  easily,  however,  fall  into  a  very 
natural  mistake  about  the  real  temper  which  underlies 
this  perpetual  persiflage.  We  should  be  stupid  to  take 


174  Ladies. 

it  literally.  It  is  a  glittering  play  of  light  on  the 
surface  of  opinion,  but  it  is  not  opinion.  There  is  a 
wit  in  our  club  who  amuses  us  by  his  knack  of  making 
contemporary  French  history,  seem  ludicrous,  and  he 
has  especially  the  art  of  professing  a  profound  satisfac- 
tion with  things  that  are  most  unsatisfactory,  till  one 
begins  to  think  that  he  must  be  Mephistopheles  him- 
self; but  although  the  form  of  his  criticism  seems  absurd, 
the  ideas  which  lie  behind  it  are  those  of  a  really  able 
man,  who  judges  of  events  with  far  more  genuine 
wisdom  than  many  a  solemn-looking  homme  strieux. 
The  only  sure  way  of  estimating  the  good  sense  of 
people  is  to  notice  whether  they  are  aware  of  the 
real  tendency  of  events,  whether  or  not  they  know  in 
what  direction  things  are  going ;  and  it  is  not  always 
the  solemn  and  pompous  people,  it  is  not  even  the 
serious  and  earnest  people,  who  have  this  faculty  in 
perfection. 

Ladies  object  to  cafes  and  clubs  as  a  great  evil  in 
little-town-life.  No  doubt,  from  their  point  of  view,  it 
must  seem  an  unkind  desertion  when  their  husbands 
are  too  regular  in  their  attendance  at  such  places,  but 
the  men  are  really  very  excusable.  French  provincial 
ladies  who  are  what  is  considered  to  be  thoroughly 
comine-il-fauty  live  so  entirely  outside  of  everything 
which  interests  educated  French  laymen,  that  it  is 
difficult  to  express  opinions  in  their  presence  without 
either  going  beyond  the  limits  of  their  knowledge  or 
else  incurring  positive  disapprobation.  Men  like  to 
talk  together  about  politics,  law,  trade,  &c.,  and  when 
they  are  rather  clever  they  like  to  indulge  occasionally 


Habits  of  Ladies.  175 

in  a  little  science  or  philosophy.  If  ladies  could  and 
would  take  their  fair  share  in  masculine  talk,  on  equal 
terms,  and  not  simply  put  a  stop  to  it  by  the  deference 
and  attention  which  they  constantly  expect,  the  sexes 
would  not  be  so  much  separated.  The  distance  between 
them  is  greater  in  France  than  it  is  in  England,  partly, 
perhaps,  because  there  is  more  ceremonial  politeness,  a 
very  serious  evil  when  it  reaches  a  certain  point,  for 
men  cannot  talk  freely  when  they  may  not  contradict 
without  elaborate  precautions.  Frenchmen  contradict 
each  other  point-blank,  it  saves  time  and  offends  no- 
body ;  but  if  (as  is  always  likely  to  happen)  they  have 
the  misfortune  to  dissent  from  some  decided  feminine 
opinion,  there  are  ceremonies,  to  be  observed  before 
the  dissent  can  be  expressed,  if  indeed  it  can  be 
adequately  expressed  at  all. 

Ladies  have  much  less  influence  in  little-town-life^ 
than  they  have  in  the  capital.  They  have  their  own 
little  clubs,  that  is,  they  meet  for  charitable  purposes, 
and  they  visit  each  other  a  good  deal ;  but  they  see 
little  of  the  masculine  portion  of  the  community,  ex- 
cept the  priests.  Ladies  get  up  early,  and  the  first 
thing  they  do  is  to  go  to  the  daily  mass  at  their  parish 
church,  after  which  they  look  after  household  affairs 
till  dtjeiiner,  and  in  the  afternoon  either  sit  quietly  in 
their  drawing-rooms  or  else  pay  a  call  or  two,  when 
they  have  not  some  work  of  charity  to  attend  to.  It 
is  exactly  contrary  to  the  truth  to  accuse  them  of  much 
eagerness  about  gaiety  and  *  amusements.  Balls  are 
extremely  rare ;  as  for  the  theatre,  it  is  true  that  such 
a  building  exists,  but  ladies  seldom  go  there,  except 


176  Difficulty  of  Conversation. 

perhaps  twice  a  year  to  a  concert.     There  is  very  little 
festive  visiting  of  any  kind.     I  cannot   imagine  what 
the   ladies   would   find   to   interest   them   without   the 
varied  ceremonies  of  the  church,  their  own  works  of 
charity,  and  a  little  small-talk.     The  reader  perceives 
how  impossible  it  is  that  a  lady  who  takes  the  whole 
tone  of  her  thinking  from  the  clergy  of  the  Church  of 
Rome  should  be  able  to  judge  of  great  contemporary 
persons  and  events  with  any  degree  of  fairness.     The 
whole  condition   of    her   mind    is   so   opposed   to   the 
modern  spirit,  that  the  things  which  seem  to  us  laymen 
most   right   and  just   appear   iniquitous   to  her.      We 
can  hardly  talk  about  any  contemporary  event  with- 
out, in  some  direct  or  indirect  manner,  wounding  her 
susceptibilities.     We  make  a  remark  on  the  reception 
of  Garibaldi's  Tiber  scheme  lay  the  Italian  parliament 
— here  are  half  a  dozen  grounds  of  offence   together. 
First,  the  lady,  not  having  read  the  newspapers,  does 
not  know  that  Garibaldi  is  at  Rome,  and  is  displeased 
to  learn  it,  because  his  presence  there  is  an  insult  to 
the  Holy  Father;    secondly,  she  does  not  like  to  be 
told  that  there  is  an  Italian  parliament  in  Rome — there 
ought  to  be  nothing  there  but  the  perfect  ecclesiastical 
government ;  thirdly,  it  is  dreadful  to  think  that  the 
presumption  of  wicked  men  goes  so  far  as  to  meddle 
with  the  Holy  Father's  own  river  whilst  he  is  languish- 
ing in  prison,  cruelly  held  in  bondage  by  that  monster 
of  all  wickedness,  Victor  Emmanuel.     We  in  our  inno- 
cence may  have  forgotten  all  these  things,  to  concern 
ourselves  simply  with  an  interesting  engineering  pro- 
blem ;   we   are  wondering   if   the  projected   works   at 


Male  and  Female  Opinion.  177 

Fiumicino  will  pay  interest ;  one  of  us  has  been  there 
and  knows  the  spot,  he  has  also  seen  an  inundation 
of  the  Tiber,  and  has  his  opinion  on  the  possibility 
of  avoiding  other  inundations  by  deepening  the  bed 
of  the  river.     The  lady  perceives  the  direction  of  our 
thinking,  and  disapproves   of  it.      Now   suppose  that 
the  conversation  turns  to  something  at  home.     Littre* 
has  just  been  received  at  the  French  Academy ;  we  are 
glad  of  it  because  we  know  what  a  genuine,  unpretend- 
ing,  wonderfully   persistent   and    persevering   labourer 
he  has  always  been,  and  what  gigantic  services  he  has 
rendered  to  other  labourers,  were  it  only  by  his  un- 
rivalled dictionary,  but  the  lady  has  been  told  that  he 
is  an  enemy  to  all  religion  (which  is  not  the  truth),  and 
considers  his  admission  an  insult  to  the  Church.     Or 
.suppose,  again,  that  we  talk  of  contemporary  politics, 
of    the    establishment   of    self-government   in    France, 
which  has  our  good  wishes  for  its  success,  she  sees  in 
our  desire  for  the  regular  working  of  a  sound  repre- 
sentative system  nothing  but  a  deplorable  error.     All 
her  political  reading  has  been  in  such  little  books  as 
Mgr.  Segur's   "Vive  le  Roi,"    in    which  he   condemns 
the  representation  of  the  people  in   parliament  as  la 
Rh'olution,  "  an  immense  blasphemy  and  an  abomin- 
able theory,   the   impudent   negation  of  the   right   of 
God  over  society,  and  of  the  right  which  He  has  given 
to  his  Church  to  teach  and  direct  kings  and  peoples  in 
the  way  of  salvation."     Her  theory  of  government  is 
simple  and  poetic.     A  king  by  right  divine  should  be 
upon  the  throne,  he  should  be  armed  with  all  power, 
and  exercise  it  under  the  wise  direction  of  the  Church. 

N 


178  Clerical  Opinions  of  Ladies. 

So  when  we  talk  of  future  parliamentary  legislation, 
she  both  blames  and  pities  us  as  men  who  encourage 
others  to  follow  a  path  which  can  lead  to  no  good,  and 
as  being  ourselves  not  only  deceivers  but  deceived. 
Do  what  we  will,  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  touch  upon 
any  important  subject  without  trespassing  against  the 
authority  of  the  Church,  which  disapproves  of  all  our 
works  and  ways ;  she  feels  this  by  instinct,  even  when 
she  cannot  clearly  define  it.  Is  it  surprising  that  men 
should  meet  together  in  their  clubs  and  cafe's  to  talk 
over  the  things  which  interest  them  in  their  own  way, 
without  incurring  moral  disapprobation  ?*  They  want 
an  atmosphere  in  which  practical  subjects  can  be  dis- 
cussed in  a  practical  way,  in  which  the  deepening  of 
an  Italian  river,  the  construction  of  an  Italian  port, 
the  reception  of  a  philologist  at  the  Academy,  the 
election  of  members  of  Parliament  in  France,  can  be 
examined  from  a  layman's  point  of  view. 

French  novels  have  encouraged  the  idea  that  French- 
men are  always  occupied  in  making  love  to  their 

*  The  Pope  gave  Mgr.  de  Se*gur  an  apostolical  brief  in  favour 
of  his  little  work  "  Vive  le  Roi."  In  this  he  expressed  exactly  the 
shade  of  feeling  and  opinion  which  is  most  prevalent  amongst 
provincial  ladies:  — 

"  En  eflfet,  ce  ne  sont  pas  seulement  les  sectes  impies,  qui 
conspirent  centre  1'Eglise  et  centre  la  socie'te',  ce  sont  encore  tous 
ces  hommes  qui,  lors  meme  qu'on  leur  supposerait  la  plus  entiere 
bonne  foi  et  les  intentions  les  plus  droites,  caressent  les  doctrines 
libeVales  que  le  Saint-Sie"ge  a  souvent  de"sapprouve"es.  Ces  doc- 
trines, qui  favorisent  les  principes  d'ou  naissent  toutes  les  re*vo- 
lutions,  sont  d'autant  plus  pernicieuses  peut-etre  que  de  prime 
abord  elles  paraissent  plus  ge"ne"reuses."  The  last  sentence  is  just 
in  the  tone  of  a  rather  kindly-disposed  French  lady  when  thinking 
of  the  pernicious  opinions  professed  by  her  masculine  acquaintances 


Conduct  of  French  Ladies.  179 

neighbours'  wives.  One  of  my  friends  who  lives  in  our 
city  asked  me  a  question  which  I  will  repeat  here,  with 
the  answer.  He  said,  "You  are  a  foreigner  who  has 
lived  many  years  in  France,  and  you  have  observed  us, 
no  doubt,  much  more  closely  than  we  observe  ourselves, 
whilst  you  have  means  of  comparison  with  another 
nation  which  we  have  not.  Now  please  tell  me  frankly 
whether  our  wives  seem  to  conduct  themselves  worse 
than  English  ladies  in  a  neighbourhood  of  the  same 
kind."  I  said,  "  It  is  just  like  an  English  neighbour- 
hood ;  one  never  thinks  about  the  morality  of  ladies,  it 
is  a  matter  of  course."  .  This  is  a  subject,  indeed,  which 
it  seems  almost  wrong  to  mention  even  here,  though  I 
do  so  for  the  best  of  purposes.  There  exists  in  foreign 
countries,  and  especially  in  England,  a  belief  that 
Frenchwomen  are  very  generally  adulteresses.  The 
origin  of  the  belief  is  this, — the  manner  in  which  mar- 
riages are  generally  managed  in  France  leaves  no  room 
for  interesting  love-stories.  Novelists  and  dramatists 
must,  find  love-stories  somewhere,  and  so  they  have  to 
seek  for  them  in  illicit  intrigues.  These  writers  are 
read  greatly  in  foreign  countries,  and  as  the  interest  of 
the  story  turns  generally  upon  a  passion  for  a  married 
woman,  an  impression  is  thereby  conveyed  that  such 
passions  are  the  main  interest  of  French  life.  It  is  also, 
I  believe,  perfectly  true  that  there  is  too  much  of  such 
passion  in  the  luxurious  and  idle  society  of  Paris,  which 
is  much  better  known  to  foreigners  than  the  simpler 
and  more  restricted,  yet  in  the  aggregate  incompara- 
bly more  numerous,  society  of  the  country.  All  these 
influences  together  have  produced  an  opinion  in  foreign 

N   2 


i8o  Qualities  of  Provincial  Ladies. 

countries  which  is  most  unjust  to  the  ordinary  provincial 
French  lady,  whose  qualities  and  faults  are  exactly  the 
opposite  of  what  the  foreigner  usually  believes. '  She 
may  have  unpractical  views  on  politics,  and  not  see 
the  beauty  of  representative  government,  but  she  is 
thoroughly  aware  of  the  difference  between  morality 
and  immorality.  She  may  be  uncharitable  to  Garibaldi 
and  Victor  Emmanuel,  and  have  exaggerated  ideas 
about  the  especial  sanctity  of  Pius  the  Ninth,  but 
at  any  rate  she  knows  the  Ten  Commandments  as 
well  as  if  she  were  a  Protestant,  and  keeps  them. 
Besides  her  religion,  she  has  too  many  home  occu- 
pations for  indulgence  in  amorous  intrigues.  Her 
time  and  strength  are  chiefly  absorbed  in  managing 
a  house  with  half  or  one-third  the  number  of  servants 
which  English  experience  would  prove  to  be  necessary. 
She  is  like  the  skipper  of  one  of  those  insufficiently 
manned  vessels  which  have  attracted  Mr.  Plimsoll's 
attention  ;  he  does  not  simply  command,  he  works,  and 
so  does  she.  It  is  hardly  possible,  after  witnessing  for 
many  years  the  simple  and  laborious  kind  of  life  which 
these  women  lead,  with  that  constant  burden  of  petty 
cares  and  duties  which  they  bear  so  bravely  and  cheer- 
fully, to  avoid  feeling  indignation  at  the  absurd  and 
monstrous  calumnies  which  are  received  by  foreigners 
concerning  them.  There  can  be  but  one  excuse  for 
such  calumnies,  an  impression  produced  by  a  certain 
class  of  literature,  and  intensified  by  international  ill-will. 
The  reader  who  cares  to  have  just  opinions  will  only 
believe  the  truth  if  he  simply  takes  it  for  granted  that 
the  virtue  of  the  ordinary  housekeeping  French  lady 


Respectable   Women.  1 8 1 

is  no  more  questionable  than  that  of  his  own  mother 
and  sisters.  There  are  a  few  exceptions,  so  there  are  in 
England — the  Divorce  Court  proves  it. 

The  place  of  women  in  provincial  French  society 
would  be  stronger  if  they  saw  more  of  the  men,  and  it 
would  be  better  for  society  generally  if  the  sexes  were 
not  so  widely  separated.  This  will  become  possible  if 
ever  women  come  to  share  the  modern  spirit,  instead 
of  condemning  it  as  something  wicked.  It  is  indeed 
positively  realized  by  a  few  superior  women,  such,  for 
example,  as  Madame  Edgar  Quinet,  but  they  are  rare, 
and  in  country  towns  they  would  probably  be  misunder- 
stood. It  is  not  necessary  that  women  should  dazzle 
us  by  brilliant  intellectual  display,  but  it  is  desirable 
for  us  and  for  them  that  they  should  be  able  to  enter 
into  the  hopes  and  ideas  of  laymen.  The  provincial 
French  lady  of  to-day  is  a  very  respectable  person,  often, 
indeed,  much  more  than  respectable  ;  for  the  ideal  she 
strives  to  realize  is,  in  its  perfection,  truly  admirable. 
But  she  is  like  the  angels  in  Murillo's  picture  in  the 
Louvre  called  "  La  Cuisine  des  Anges"  Those  angels 
represent  her  very  completely  in  their  combination  of 
a  religious  ideal  with  the  fulfilment  of  the  commonest 
household  duties.  The  picture  represents  the  two  sides 
of  her  life,  and  might  very  well  be  entitled  "  The 
Allegory  of  the  Good  Frenchwoman."  Two  gentlemen 
enter  on  the  left  They  look  surprised  and  out  of  place, 
and  as  if  they  did  not  know  what  to  say.  One  feels 
that  they  will  go  to  talk  their  own  talk  elsewhere,  and 
are  only  temporary  visitors  here. 


182 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  Author  founds  a  Book-Club — How  he  managed  to  keep  in  the 
Background — Friendly  Suggestion  of  the  Sub-Prefect — How 
the  Sub-Prefect  was  looked  upon  by  Members  of  the  Political 
Parties — Wonderful  Results  of  his  Intervention — Withdrawal 
of  Legitimists  and  Republicans  from  the  Club — Division  of 
French  Society — English  and  French  compared — Amenities 
of  Parties  in  Cromwell's  Time — The  French  Revolution  not 
yet  over — Contending  Ideas — The  Legitimist  Theory  of  Govern- 
ment— The  Republican  Theory — Bonapartist  Opinions — Pre- 
mature Establishment  of  the  Republic  necessary  to  get  Popular 
Education — Death  of  the  genuine  Royalist  Sentiment  in  France 
— Strength  of  Sentimental  Loyalty  in  England — An  Instance 
of  it — French  Princes  estimated  only  on  their  Merits — The 
Count  of  Paris — He  visits  the  Author's  Neighbourhood — 
Legitimist  Enthusiasm  in  the  Upper  Classes — Free  Elections — 
Honest  and  Demoralizing  Governments — Present  State  of 
Feeling  in  Parties— Needs  of  the  Country  and  Hopes  for  its 
Future. 

IN  the  last  chapter  we  had  a  talk  about  caf/s  and  clubs, 
which  leads  me  to  give  a  true  and  faithful  account  in 
this  present  chapter  of  how  I  founded  a  book-club,  and 
what  became  of  it. 

The  idea  occurred  to  me  that  there  were  enough 
well-to-do  men  in  the  neighbourhood  to  make  a  club  for 
the  circulation  of  books  and  reviews-*— all  French,  of 
course  ;  for  not  a  living  human  being  in  these  regions 
knows  enough  of  any  other  language  to  read  it  with 
any  facility  or  comfort. 


The  AutJwr  founds  a  Book-club.  183 

A  foreigner  does  best,  in  my  opinion,  to  put  himself 
forward  as  little  as  possible  in  anything.  He  is  looked 
upon  by  his  friends  amongst  the  natives  rather  as  a 
guest  than  a  member  of  the  family.  He  is  treated  with 
great  politeness,  often  with  the  greatest  kindness  (at 
least,  I  have  found  it  so)  but  still  he  may  do  well  to 
remember  that  he  is  not  a  citizen,  and  that  a  certain 
reserve  becomes  him.  Thus,  whenever  I  want  to  get 
anything  done  in  these  parts,  my  way  is  to  keep  entirely 
in  the  background,  and  set  the  scheme  in  motion  through 
one  or  two  private  friends,  under  whose  auspices  it  is 
brought  to  the  test  of  practice,  the  public  in  general  not 
having  the  remotest  notion  that  "  ce  Monsieur  Anglais  " 
is  at  the  bottom  of  it. 

So  it.  was  with  the  book-club.  I  began  by  suggesting 
the  idea  to  three  men  who  belonged  to  three  entirely 
different  sections  of  society,  and  each  went  to  work  in 
his  own  sphere,  with  so  much  success,  that  in  about  a 
month  we  had  a  surprisingly  long  list  of  subscribers,  when 
all  the  three  lists  were  added  together. 

I  now  drew  up  a  set  of  rules,  very  like  the  rules  of 
such  book-clubs  in  England,  when  one  of  my  private 
friends  asked  where  the  club  was  to  be  established,  and 
who  was  to  be  secretary  to  it.  Evidently,  we  must  have 
a  room  somewhere  for  the  library,  and  a  clerk  to  give 
the  books  out,  and  keep  an  account,  and  get  the  books 
back  again  (most  difficult  of  duties  !)  from  members  who 
kept  them  indefinitely. 

A  most  tempting  solution  was  immediately  offered  by 
a  friend  who  was  also  a  member.  This  was  no  less  a 
personage  than  the  Sub-Prefect.  It  happened  that  in 


184  The  Sub-Prefecfs  Proposal. 

the  courtyard  of  the  Sub-Prefecture,  close  to  the 
entrance-gate,  there  was  a  neat  little  building  one 
story  high,  which  served  as  offices  for  the  clerks. 
There  were  several  small  rooms  in  this  little  building,  so 
the  Sub-Prefect  showed  me  one  of  them,  not  occupied, 
and  said,  "  Would  not  this  do  capitally  for  the  library  ? 
— you  shall  have  it  for  nothing,  and  we  can  save  the 
expense  of  a  clerk,  for  one  of  my  clerks  shall  keep  the 
accounts  and  deliver  and  receive  books.  He  has  plenty 
of  leisure  moments,  and  he  may  just  as  well  occupy 
them  in  this  way." 

Nothing  could  be  more  perfectly  adapted  to  the  needs 
of  the  nascent  book-club  than  this  most  amiable  pro- 
posal. The  place  was  so  delightfully  accessible  ;  the 
building  looked  so  clean  and  nice  (it  had  some  preten- 
sions to  architecture)  ;  then  it  was  close  to  the  gate, 
no  house  had  to  be  passed  through  to  get  at  it ;  the 
clerk  was  there  all  day,  and  such  a  civil,  intelligent, 
attentive  clerk,  that  we  might  have  sought  a  long  time 
for  the  like  of  him  !  "  I  will  have  shelves  put  all  round 
the  room  for  the  books,"  said  the  Sub- Prefect,  for  it  was 
part  of  my  scheme  that  the  books  belonging  to  the  club 
were  to  accumulate  and  form  a  library  in  time.  In  my 
innocence  I  thought  we  could  at  least  accept  these 
charming  facilities  for  the  first  year  or  two,  after  which 
we  might  set  up  more  independently,  if  necessary. 
Another  consideration  was,  that  I  liked  the  Sub- 
Prefect  personally.  He  had  always  been  very  civil  to 
me,  and  I  did  not  wish  to  refuse  his  amiable  proposal. 
He  was  certainly  one  of  the  most  intelligent  men  in  the 
place,  so  that  there  was  a  certain  attraction  to  the  Sous- 


Political  Differences.  185 

Prefecture,  as,  when  he  happened  to  be  at  leisure,  we 
went  and  smoked  and  chatted  together  in  the  garden. 

All  this  only  shows  that  a  foreigner  may  live  for 
years  in  a  country,  and  be  little  better  than  a  fool  about 
it  after  all. 

In  those  days  we  were  living  under  the  Emperor 
Napoleon  III.  Our  Sub-Prefect  was  a  Bonapartist,  of 
course,  or  he  would  not  have  held  that  official  position. 
Political  reasons  had  never  prevented  me  from  being  on 
friendly  terms  with  any  one  whose  acquaintance  I  liked 
to  cultivate,  and  this  made  me  forgetful,  for  a  moment, 
of  the  intensity  of  political  hatreds  in  the  country  where 
I  now  lived.  This  man  and  I  had  never  once  talked 
politics  together ;  we  had  found  plenty  to  talk  about  in 
other  pursuits  or  amusements,  so  that  he  was  not  asso- 
ciated with  politics  in  my  mind.  Not  so  in  the  public 
mind,  however.  The  Legitimists  all  abominated  him  as 
the  representative  of  a  low  usurper  ;  the  Republicans  at 
the  same  time  hated  and  dreaded  him  as  the  instrument 
of  a  tyrant  who  was  ready  at  any  time  to  repress  liberty 
by  the  most  arbitrary  exercise  of  force,  ready  to  cast 
them  into  prison  or  banish  them  to  a  deadly  climate  if 
they  stirred  hand  or  foot  in  the  cause  that  was  dear 
to  them.  When  political  differences  are  so  profound  as 
reach  down  to  the  nature  of  the  government  itself, 
official  position  does  not  command  respect.  In  a  country 
where  the  system  of  government  is  settled  and  accepted, 
an  official  is  recognized  by  all  as  a  legally  appointed 
person.  In  France,  under  Napoleon,  the  prefects  were 
respected  only  by  the  Bonapartists  ;  the  Republicans 
looked  upon  them  as  paid  spies  ;  the  Legitimists  despised 


1 86  The  Storm  Comes. 

them  as  men  who  took  a  share  in  the  booty  of  a  suc- 
cessful thief.  Under  every  French  regime  the  officials 
are  hated  by  the  partisans  of  the  other  regimes,  and 
this  hatred  goes  to  such  a  length  that  men  cannot  tole- 
rate each  other  enough  to  meet  as  gentlemen  on  some 
neutral  ground  of  literature  or  art.  Of  course,  I  knew 
that  a  Bonapartist  Sub-Prefect  would  be  an  object  of 
political  animosity  to  other  parties,  but  I  was  innocent 
enough  to  hope  that  this  animosity  might  be  forgotten 
in  relation  to  literature.  There  was  my  mistake.  I 
accepted  the  Sub-Prefect's  offer,  he  put  a  joiner  into  the 
room,  who  soon  shelved  it  round,  the  clerk  opened  a 
new  account  book  for  the  concerns  of  the  club,  and  I 
congratulated  myself  on  having  concluded  a  most  con- 
venient and  inexpensive  arrangement. 

Then  came  the  storm  !  The  representative  of  the 
Legitimists,  who  had  promised  to  subscribe  (a  very  ardent 
Legitimist  himself,  and  appointed  agent  of  Henri  V.),  at 
once  told  me  in  the  most  decided  manner  that  neither 
he  nor  any  other  member  of  his  party  would  ever  con- 
sent to  fetch  their  books  from  the  Sons-Prefecture,  and 
they  all  withdrew  in  a  body.  Then  the  representative 
of  the  Republican  members  of  the  club  met  me  in  the 
street  and  said,  "  It  is  all  over  the  town  that  the  books 
are  to  be  kept  at  the  Sous-Prefecture^  so  all  the  Republican 
members  have  withdrawn  their  names  from  the  club." 
Now  there  were  seventeen  Republican  members,  which 
in  a  small  country  book-club  may  be  considered  rather 
an  important  contingent.  There  may  have  been  a  dozen 
Legitimists.  The  next  question  was,  who  remained  with 
us  ?  Had  we  a  remnant  strong  enough  to  carry  on  the 


Division  of  French  Society.  187 

scheme  ?  There  were  a  few  Bonapartists,  and  a  few 
men  of  not  very  decided  political  colour  who  liked  to 
keep  well  with  the  authorities.  Some  books  were 
bought,  and  the  club  maintained  a  precarious  existence 
for  perhaps  eighteen  months,  after  which  it  died  of 
inanition.  Other  sub-prefects  have  succeeded  my  friend 
the  Bonapartist,  but  I  have  never  sought  their  assist- 
ance for  the  foundation  of  any  more  book-clubs. 

This  little  history  may  give  some  faint  idea  of  the 
extreme  division  of  French  society  as  a  consequence  of 
the  events  which  have  agitated  the  country  during  the 
last  hundred  years.  The  English  reader  will  no  doubt 
think  of  his  own  country,  and  congratulate  himself  that 
Englishmen  can  meet  on  the  common  ground  of  litera- 
ture, as  cultivated  men  and  gentlemen,  without  carrying 
political  animosity  into  everything.  Mr.  Disraeli  can 
subscribe  to  the  Byron  memorial,  and  Lord  Derby  to  a 
statue  of  John  Stuart  Mill ;  our  political  chiefs  of 
opposite  parties  can  profess  respect  for  each  other 
without  hypocrisy.,  and  even  meet  in  the  same  room 
without  turning  pale,  or  pinching  their  lips,  or  chal- 
lenging each  other  to  fight  duels.  But  how  divided  the 
French  are  !  How  they  clench  their  fists,  and  shout, 
and  gesticulate,  and  jump,  and  scream  in  the  National 
Assembly  !  How  suspicious  and  uncharitable  they  are 
in  private  life !  English  people  would  never  act  so 
under  any  circumstances.  Would  they  ? 

Let  us  not  be  quite  too  sure  of  this.  The  truth  seems 
to  be,  that  so  long  as  no  fundamental  questions  are 
touched,  Englishmen  behave  very  nicely  ;  but  it  is  not 
so  certain  that,  if  the  most  important  questions,  those 


1 88  Our  House  of  Commons. 

which  divide  men  most,  came  to  the  surface,  they 
would  maintain  perfect  tranquillity  of  manner.  Speak- 
ing of  a  sitting  in  the  French  National  Assembly  in 
March,  1872,  the  Graphic  said  in  conclusion  :  "  We  may 
congratulate  ourselves  that  in  the  British  House  of 
Commons  such  a  scene  would  be  impossible.  With  us, 
a  member,  however  unpopular  his  opinions  may  be,  is 
sure  to  receive  a  patient  hearing."  This  was  curiously 
put  to  a  practical  test  in  the  same  month,  when  Mr. 
Auberon  Herbert  supported  Sir  Charles  Dilke's  motion 
for  an  inquiry  into  the  employment  of  the  Civil  List. 
A  German  who  was  present,  the  London  correspondent 
of  the  Allgemeine  Zeitung,  said  that  a  large  number  of 
honourable  members  "  formed  into  a  dense  group  in 
the  background,  set  up  a  frightful  howling,  crowing  like 
cocks,  bellowing  like  cows  or  oxen,  neighing  like  horses, 
braying  like  asses,  barking  like  dogs,  and  mewing  like 
cats — in  short,  a  whole  menagerie  seemed  to  have  broken 
out  into  a  maniacal  orgy."  We  all  know  that  the 
House  of  Commons  prides  itself  upon  being,  par  excel- 
lence et  avant  tout  an  assembly  of  English  gentlemen, 
who  exhibit  to  England  and  the  world  the  model  of 
that  gentlemanhood  which  foreigners  do  not  understand. 
Now  as  we  see  that  the  members  of  this  assembly,  who 
sit  so  high  above  us,  and  are  an  example  of  manners 
for  our  study  and  imitation,  actually  bark,  bray,  neigh, 
howl,  crow,  mew,  and  bellow,  when  the  question  of 
monarchy  is  touched  upon  at  its  extremest  out-skirts, 
we  ought,  I  think,  to  regard  Frenchmen  with  some  indul- 
gence if  they  do  not  always  disguise  their  sentiments 
when  their  monarchical  or  anti-monarchical  feelings  are, 


Political  Amenities.  189 


not  merely  t'ckled  rather  unpleasantly  on  the  outside 
by  asking  a  question  about  a  Civil  List,  but  wounded 
to  the  very  quick,  and  that  in  the  very  sorest  places. 
If  we  go  back  to  the  times,  now  happily  distant,  when 
England  was  distracted  by  disputes  on  fundamental 
questions,  to  the  times  when  there  was  a  strong  Ca- 
tholic party,  and  a  strong  Absolutist  party,  and  a  strong 
Republican  party,  we  shall  not  find  that  our  ancestors 
used  courteous  epithets  in  speaking  of  each  other.  The 
Royalists  did  not  call  Oliver  Cromwell  the  Lord 
Protector,  they  called  him  Noll,  contemptuously,  when 
in  their  most  civil  moods,  and  the  prettiest  name  they 
could  find  for  his  followers  was  "  Roundheads."  On  the 
other  hand,  the  Roundheads  called,  the  Royalists  "  malig- 
nants."  It  was  not  pretty,  but  it  was  very  natural. 
They  could  not  abide  each  other,  they  hated  each  other, 
as  a  gamekeeper  hates  vermin.  Even  so  in  these  latter 
years  Frenchmen  have  hated  Frenchmen  when  they 
belonged  to  different  camps.  You  cannot  reasonably 
expect  a  Republican,  whose  dearest  friends  were  im- 
prisoned, or  exiled,  or  shot  by  the  agents  of  Louis 
Napoleon,  to  think  only  of  his  amiable  qualities  (they 
say  he  could  be  very  amiable  in  a  drawing-room).  A 
Legitimist,  on  the  other  hand,  remembers  the  death  of 
Louis  XVI. — remembers,  too,  very  probably,  that  his 
grandmother  had  her  head  cut  off,  or  that  the  family 
estate  was  confiscated — so  that  he  does  not  quite  like 
liberty,  equality,  and  fraternity  as  understood  by  the 
democratic  party.  The  Bonapartists  have  had  much 
less  experience  of  persecution  than  either  of  the  other 
two  great  parties,  and  yet  they  seem  always  to  have 


190  The  French  Revolution. 

dreaded  the  possibility  of  a  future  application  of  it  to 
themselves.  On  the  whole,  it  must  be  admitted  that 
political  differences  are  very  serious  when  society  is 
living  in  a  condition  of  suppressed  civil  war,  with  the 
recollection  of  civil  war  in  violent  outbreaks,  and  the 
anticipation  of  similar  outbreaks  in  the  future. 

It  is  utterly  impossible  to  give  any  conception  of 
the  present  state  of  rural  French  society  without  some 
allusion  to  politics.  The  history  of  the  book-club  is 
a  good  illustration  of  this.  There  was  an  attempt  to 
treat  French  society  as  if  politics  did  not  exist,  and 
the  reader  has  seen  what  were  the  consequences — he 
has  seen  how  political  opinions  had  their  revenge. 

When  we  look  at  the  Milky  Way  our  natural  im- 
pression is  that  we  are  at  an  immense  distance  from  it, 
and  we  are  no  doubt  at  a  very  great  distance  indeed 
from  the  suns  which  produce  that  luminous  cloud  upon 
our  sky.  But  astronomers  tell  us  that  our  own  sun  is 
really  one  of  the  stars  of  the  Milky  Way,  and  also 
that  every  fixed  star  we  can  see  separately  belongs  to  it. 
We  ourselves  are  therefore  in  the  Milky  Way,  and  so  is 
everything  in  our  sky  that  we  can  see  separately  and 
distinctly. 

So  it  is  with  the  greatest  political  event  (or  series  of 
events)  in  modern  history,  the  French  Revolution.  To 
simple  minds  the  French  Revolution  is  at  a  distance  in 
the  past.  They  have  read  of  its  excesses  in  1793,  and 
the  orthodox  histories  used  to  speak  as  if  it  came  to  an 
end  at  the  happy  restoration  of  Louis  XVIII.  His- 
torians who  wrote  books  of  that  class  were  afterwards 
rather  embarrassed  when  the  restoration  did  not  prove 


The  Revolution  not  over  yet.  191 

to  be  permanent,  and  they  had  to  speak  of  subsequent 
revolutions.  Then  whatever  foreign  opinion  happened 
to  be  unfavourable  to  France  assumed  that  the  country 
was  in  an  absurd  and  indescribable  condition  owing  to 
the  fickleness  and  unreason  of  its  inhabitants,  but  did 
not  see  the  one  broad  fact  that  all  the  convulsions  which 
have  taken  place  since  1793  are  part  of  the  same  thing, 
the  Revolution.  It  is  a  mere  illusion  of  perspective  to 
imagine  that  the  Revolution  is  at  a  distance  behind  us. 
We  are  in  it,  as  we  are  in  the  Milky  Way.  Some  may 
think  that  we  have  as  little  chance  of  getting  out  of  it 
as  we  have  of  getting  out  of  the  Milky  Way,  but  I 
cannot  agree  with  this  opinion.  In  my  view  the  French 
Revolution  is  really  a  transition  from  government  by 
one  order  of  ideas  to  government  by  another  order  of 
ideas.  There  is  still  enough  vitality  in  the  old  ideas  to 
make  the  establishment  of  the  new  ones  impossible 
without  conflict ;  and  the  conflict  has  been  a  long  one. 
It  has  lasted  nearly  a  hundred  years,  if  we  look  only  at 
the  surface  of  things  ;  but  it  has  lasted  still  longer,  if 
we  look  below  the  surface.  It  is  not  over  yet ;  the 
youngest  of  us  are  not  likely  to  see  the  end  of  it.  But 
the  new  ideas  are  gradually  gaining  ground,  which,  if 
they  lose  from  time  to  time,  they  always  recover.  It  is 
a  great  error  to  suppose  that  the  Revolution  has  no 
permanent  gains.  In  reality,  something  permanent 
always  remains  ;  some  positive  and  lasting  gain,  not  to 
the  rulers,  but  to  the  general  population  of  the  country. 
The  advance  in  general  well-being,  in  practical  civiliza- 
tion, has  been  much  greater,  and  especially  more  con- 
tinuous than  a  superficial  observer  who  did  not  live  in 


192  Contending  Ideas. 


France,  and  was  not  acquainted  with  matters  of  detail, 
would  ever  be  likely  to  imagine.  A  well-known  English 
newspaper  said  two  or  three  years  ago  that  "  after  cen 
turies  of  agony  and  self-torture,  France  is  simply  the 
France  of  the  middle  ages,  and  no  more."  It  would  be 
just  as  exact  to  affirm  that  England  is  the  England  of 
Henry  II.,  and  no  more. 

The  two  orders  of  ideas  which  are  still  contending 
together  may  be  fairly  stated  as  follows  : — On  the  one 
side  you  have  the  partisans  of  government  by  an 
authority  independent  of  the  nation,  and  on  the  other 
the  partisans  of  self-government  through  elected  repre- 
sentatives. Between  these  two  is  a  third  party,  advo- 
cating government  by  authority,  but  claiming  to  derive 
the  authority  from  the  people  in  the  first  place.  These 
three  parties  are  known,  all  the  world  over,  as  the  Legiti- 
mists, the  Republicans,  and  the  Bonapartists.  The  dif- 
ferences between  them  are,  as  we  see,  not  superficial, 
but  absolutely  fundamental.  No  compromise  is  possible, 
nor  any  real  reconciliation.  The  point  of  departure  is 
distinct  in  each  of  the  three.  The  Legitimist  tells  you 
quite  frankly  that  a  nation  has  no  right  to  choose  its 
ruler,  that  the  ruler  is  appointed  for  it  by  divine  provi- 
dence, in  the  person  of  its  legitimate  sovereign,  who 
may  or  may  not,  at  his  own  good  pleasure,  call  councils 
to  assist  him  in  the  work  of  legislation  and  administra- 
tion. He  is  responsible  to  nobody  on  earth  ;  he  is 
responsible  only  to  God.  The  strength  and  liberties  of 
the  nation  belong  to  him,  to  do  with  them  what  his 
royal  will  may  dictate.  This  is  really  and  truly  the 
Legitimist  theory,  as  it  has  been  stated  to  me  by  ardent 


The  Legitimist  TJieory.  193 

and  active  members  of  the  party.  After  asserting  the 
theory  in  this  decisive  manner,  a  Legitimist  is  usually 
careful  to  add  that  in  all  probability  the  government 
which  he  desires,  if  it  could  be  established,  would  be  as 
liberal  as  any.  He  will  generally  tell  you  that  Henri  V. 
would  be  a  most  liberal  monarch,  and  would  never 
withdraw  those  popular  gains  of  the  Revolution  which 
the  ordinary  Frenchman  values.  This  may  be  very  true, 
and  still  the  principle  of  legitimacy  is  to  yield  nothing 
in  theory  of  the  absolute  authority  of  the  monarch,  and 
to  derive  that  authority  from  a  source  outside  the 
nation.  The  principle  is  a  perfectly  intelligible  one, 
and  there  is  much  to  be  said  in  its  favour.  It  is  acted 
upon  to  a  considerable  extent,  even  in  England.  For 
example,  Englishmen  in  general  believe  it  to  be  a  good 
thing  that  persons  in  authority  should  be  appointed  by 
some  power  outside  the  people  they  have  to  lead  or 
govern.  An  English  military  officer  is  not  elected  by 
his  own  soldiers  ;  a  clergyman  of  the  Church  of 
England  is  not  appointed  by  his  own  congregation  ;  a 
judge  is  not  raised  to  the  bench  by  the  votes  of  the 
criminal  classes.  We  can  see  clearly  enough  that  a  king 
whose  authority  came  to  him  from  a  source  outside  the 
nation  would  be  more  independent  if  the  source  of  his 
authority  were  itself  sufficiently  august.  In  the  legiti- 
mist theory  it  is  so  ;  the  only  difficulty  is  to  get  people 
to  believe  in  the  divine  origin  of  the  royal  right.  The 
tone  of  all  recent  utterances  of  "  le  Roi "  shows  clearly 
that /A?  believes  in  it.  "  I  am  what  I  am  ;  you  must  take 
me  for  what  I  am,  or  not  at  all  ;  I  can  yield  nothing  of 
my  right ;  I  can  make  no  bargains,  for  my  right  is  in- 

O 


1 94  The  Republican  Theory. 

alienable."  This  is  the  spirit  and  tenor  of  those  letters 
which,  in  reality,  renounced  a  throne.  There  was  a 
strong  possibility  of  a  restoration  at  the  time  of  the 
fusion,  and  our  legitimist  friends  disguised  nothing  of 
their  thoughts  and  hopes.  "  The  king  will  grant  liberties," 
they  said  ;  "  he  will  permit  parliamentary  and  constitu- 
tional government,  but  he  must  be  trusted  absolutely." 
They  were  most  indignant  against  the  "timid  and 
ungrateful  distrust "  of  certain  more  prudent  Royalists, 
who  wanted  promises  and  guarantees.  "  What !  cannot 
they  trust  their  king  ?  Do  they  imagine  that  it  can  be 
compatible  with  his  dignity  to  make  bargains  for  a 
throne  which  is  his  own  already?"  We  all  remember 
Chambord's  final  answer — that  strange  document  which 
seemed  to  belong  to  another  age  and  another  world 
than  ours. 

It  is  not  possible  to  imagine  a  stronger  contrast  to 
this  theory  of  government  than  the  republican  theory. 
The  Republican  does  not  believe  in  divine  right ;  but  he, 
too,  has  a  faith,  for  which  he,  or  his  predecessors,  have 
been  willing  to  undergo  not  a  little  persecution  and 
suffering  in  past  times,  and  which,  even  in  these  days, 
when  the  Republic  is  nominally  established,  cannot  be 
professed  in  fashionable  society  without  incurring  a  loss 
ot  social  position.  The  republican  belief  is  that  the 
nation  has  a  right  to  govern  itself  through  its  represen- 
tatives. •  This  idea  is  very  familiar  both  in  England  and 
America,  so  that  I  need  not  trouble  the  reader  with 
much  commentary  upon  it ;  but  there  is  the  distinction 
between  France  and  England,  that  in  England  the  chief 
of  the  executive  and  the  senate  are  hereditary,  which 


The  Real  Ground  of  Bonapartism.  195 

French  republican  theory  does  not  admit.  For  the 
rest,  I  believe  that  English  opinion  is  generally  nearer 
to  moderate  French  republicanism,  which  is  self-govern- 
ment, than  it  is  to  legitimacy,  which  is  irresponsible 
absolutism.  But  I  well  know  the  difficulty  of  trans- 
ferring opinions  from  one  country  to  another.  For 
example  (a  very  curious  example),  there  are  a  very  great 
many  Bonapartists  in  England,  with  regard  to  French 
affairs,  although  there  is  nothing  in  English  royalty 
bearing  the  remotest  resemblance  to  the  government  of 
a  Bonaparte.  The  explanation  of  this  appears  to  be 
that  the  English  Bonapartists  think  it  a  good  thing  for 
the  French  to  be  governed  despotically,  though  they 
would  not  like  to  be  governed  so  themselves,  just  as  we 
think  it  a  good  thing  for  boys  to  be  sent  to  school, 
though  we  should  not  like  to  be  sent  to  school  ourselves. 
I  happen  to  be  on  very  intimate  terms  with  some 
French  Bonapartists,  and  can  tell  the  reader  exactly 
what  they  think.  Their  opinion  is,  that  the  common 
people  require  to  be  governed  by  despotic  authority ; 
that  they  are  wholly  unripe  for  real  representative 
government,  but  must  be  deluded  by  the  semblance  of 
it  ;  that  there  may  be  houses  of  parliament,  provided 
they  have  no  power,  or,  at  least,  if  there  is  an  executive 
strong  enough  to  veto  their  decisions. 

So  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  ascertain,  the  real 
ground  of  the  Bonapartist  party  is  distrust  of  universal 
suffrage,  accompanied  by  disbelief  in  the  divine  right  of 
the  legitimate  sovereign.  The  idea  of  legitimacy  is 
antiquated,  but  it  is  not,  in  the  least,  immoral.  No 
dishonesty  whatever  is  involved  in  it.  The  Count  of 

O  2 


196  Immorality  of  Bonapartism. 

Chambord  has  acted  in  the  most  straightforward  manner, 
and  so  have  his  adherents,  except  in  the  minor  tactics 
of  party.  I  mean  that  they  have  always  enunciated 
their  doctrines  clearly,  though  they  may  have  had 
recourse  to  occasional  political  expedients  (which  have 
always  failed).  The  Republicans,  too,  are  clear  enough. 
They  frankly  state  that  they  aim  at  representative 
government,  by  means  of  elected  deputies.  There  is 
nothing  immoral  in  this  either  ;  it  is  an  idea  which  has 
been  approved  of  by  some  of  the  most  honourable  men 
in  the  world.  But  the  Bonapartist  theory  is  really,  in 
one  respect,  immoral,  for  it  would  establish  a  govern- 
ment on  popular  support,  and  then  paralyze  the  action 
of  the  popular  will.  All  Bonapartists  whom  I  have 
ever  heard  in  the  frankness  of  intimate  conversation 
express  the  most  perfect  contempt  for  the  political 
capacity  of  the  people.  "  They  are  utterly  unable  to 
govern  themselves,  or  even,  of  themselves,  to  choose 
capable  representatives  ;  therefore  they  must  be 
governed  with  a  strong  hand."  This  is  the  theory,  but 
how  to  replace  the  Emperor  when  he  has  been  displaced 
by  such  an  event  as  Waterloo  or  Sedan  ?  By  an  appeal 
to  universal  suffrage,  in  which  appeal  the  enlightened 
Bonapartists  do  not  tell  the  people  their  true  opinion  of 
the  popular  capacity.  I  agree  with  the  Bonapartists  so 
far  as  this,  that  the  people  are  not  yet  ripe  for  self- 
government.  Clearly,  they  are  not  ripe.  Very  many 
of  them  cannot  read  at  all,  and  few  of  the  more  edu- 
cated are  able  to  read  with  sufficient  facility.  The 
establishment  of  a  Repul  i;c  without  popular  education 
fc>  unquestionably  premature  But  now  see  the  dilemma 


Death  of  Royalist  Sentiment.  197 

in  which  France  finds  herself.  The  republican  party  is 
the  only  party  which  will  favour  education ;  it  is  even 
the  only  party  which  will  not  impede  and  resist  it ;  so 
that  to  get  the  people  taught,  the  Republic  must  first  be 
permanently  established.  The  Bonapartist  theory  is 
that  the  people  are  politically  incapable,  and  had  better 
remain  so.  The  legitimist  theory  is,  that  they  have 
no  need  for  political  knowledge  or  capacity,  since  the 
sovereign,  in  his  wisdom,  will  choose  faithful  adminis- 
trators of  his  power.  Of  the  two,  the  Legitimist  is  the 
more  honest,  because  he  makes  no  appeal  to  universal 
suffrage. 

English  readers  will  have  a  difficulty  in  realizing 
the  nature  of  the  one  great  obstacle  which  prevents 
the  establishment  of  royal  government  in  France. 
The  obstacle  is  the  death  of  the  sentiment  upon 
which  royal  families  depend,  or  to  which  they  owe 
their  peculiar  influence.  An  Englishman,  and  yet  more 
an  Englishwoman,  cannot,  without  a  great  effort  of 
imagination,  conceive  the  total  absence  of  such  a  senti- 
ment, and  the  only  way  to  do  so  is  first  to  become 
conscious  of  the  full  power  of  the  sentiment  itself. 
Think  of  the  difference  between  a  direct  command 
from  the  Queen,  and  an  order  or  request  from  Mr. 
Gladstone  or  Mr.  Disraeli !  We  should  all  obey  the 
first  with  a  certain  enthusiasm,  with  a  certain  emotion — 
the  enthusiasm  and  emotion  of  loving  loyalty — which 
no  prime  minister,  however  able  and  eloquent,  could  by 
any  possibility  excite  in  us.  I  will  venture  even  to  go 
a  step  farther  than  this,  in  a  book  addressed  as  much 
to  an  American  as  to  an  English  audience.  I  will  say, 


198  Sentimental  Loyalty  in  England: 

that    many   Americans    (in    my    belief    a   very   large 
majority  of   men   and  women  in   the  United    States) 
have  a  certain  sentiment  towards  Queen  Victoria  very 
different  from  their  sentiment  towards  President  Grant. 
I  believe  that  if  Queen  Victoria  were  to  ask  almost  any 
American    to   undeitake   anything   for  her,   he  would 
undertake  it  (supposing  the  request  to  be  reasonable) 
with    a    certain    sentiment    akin    to   loyalty,   and    not 
very  distantly  akin,  earnest  and  convinced  Republican 
though   he   might   be.      In    England,    notwithstanding 
the  representative   system  of  government,  sentimental 
loyalty  is  as  strong  as  ever.     A  wonderful  instance  of 
it  occurred  lately  in  the  well-known  incident  of  Miss 
Thompson's    picture.      The    Prince   of    Wales    said   a 
word  for  it  at  a  dinner,  and  the   next  morning  Miss 
Thompson  awoke  to  find  herself  famous,  with  a  money- 
earning  power  multiplied  by  twenty.     Nobody  supposes 
that  the  Prince  is  a  great  art-critic  ;  he  has  never  pre- 
tended to  be  one ;  but  he  kindly  expressed  his  liking  for 
a  picture  which  pleased  him,  and  such  is  the  power  of 
royalty  in   England,   that  the  painter  of  that  picture 
instantaneously  became  the  fashion,  and  wherever  her 
pictures  were   to   be   seen  they  attracted    the  densest 
crowds,  whilst  the  right  of  engraving  two  of  them  has 
been  sold  for  twice  as  much  as  all  Lord  Byron's  copy- 
rights.     This   case  is   the  more  remarkable,  that  the 
influence  was  not  exercised  by  the  sovereign,  but  only 
by  the  heir  to  the  throne.     Such  an  incident  could  not 
possibly  occur  in  France.     There  is  not  a  prince  of  any 
family  who  could  set  so  strong  a  current  of  fashion  in 
a  certain  direction   by  the  expression  of  his  opinion 


French  Opinion  on  Royal  Perscns.  199 

about  art  or  anything  else.  Nobody  ever  cared  what 
the  Emperor  thought  about  art ;  people  used  to  say 
(I  believe  quite  truly)  that  he  was  utterly  ignorant  of 
the  subject ;  and  M.  Charles  Blanc  coolly  presented 
Troyon's  name  amongst  a  list  for  the  Legion  of 
Honour,  though  the  Emperor  did  not  like  Troyon's 
pictures,  and  had  said  so.  He  signed  the  decree,  and 
observed  with  resignation,  II  par  ait  que  decide"ment  je  ne 
me  connais  pas  en  peinture !  The  Emperor's  "  Life  of 
Caesar"  created  no  enthusiasm  whatever,  but  was  spoken 
of  perhaps  a  little,  less  favourably  than  if  the  author 
had  been  a  private  person.  Prince  Jerome  Napoleon, 
a  man  of  real  ability,  never  got  any  credit  for  his 
abilities,  except  from  a  small  circle  of  clever  men  who 
knew  him  quite  intimately.  The  general  public  greatly 
underestimated  him  in  every  way,  and  believed  him  to 
be  both  dull  and  cowardly.  The  members  of  the 
Orleans  family  never  get  any  more  credit  than  they 
fairly  earn  as  private  persons.  The  behaviour  of  the 
Due  d'Aumale  at  Bazaine's  trial  got  him  a  reputation 
for  a  manly  sort  of  good  sense ;  but  then  he  fairly 
deserved  it.  The  Comte  de  Paris  is  very  little  known 
indeed,  and  although  he  is  the  heir  presumptive  to  the 
legitimate  throne,  very  few  people  take  any  interest  in 
him.  I  remember  a  visit  of  his  to  our  own  neighbour- 
hood just  before  the  fusion — just  before  his  journey  to 
Frohsdorf.  I  thought  I  knew  the  people  pretty  well, 
and  yet  their  unfeigned  indifference  amazed  me.  Sup- 
pose that  the  English  royal  family  were  to  lose  the 
throne  in  a  revolution,  and  then  suppose  that  the  Prince 
of  Wales  of  that  time  were  to  be  admitted  to  England 


2OO  The  Count  of  Paris. 

again  as  a  citizen,  after  an  absence  of  many  years,  and 
were  to  visit  some  ancient  city,  such  as  Chester  or  York, 
not  at  all  incognito,  most  certainly  he  would  not  be 
regarded  with  indifference.  At  the  very  least  he  would 
be  a  great  historical  curiosity,  as  the  man  who  might 
have  been  King  of  England,  and  who  might  even  yet 
be  king  if  circumstances  turned  in  his  favour.  Well, 
the  Count  of  Paris  came  amongst  us,  and  people 
scarcely  turned  their  heads  to  look  at  him,  heir  though 
he  was  of  all  their  ancient  sovereigns.  He  had  no 
reason  to  fear  being  mobbed  ;  he  could  walk  everyAvhere 
at  ease,  like  any  simple  bourgeois,  perfectly  protected 
from  annoyance,  not  by  public  consideration,  but  by 
public  indifference.  He  was  accompanied  by  a  friend 
who  had  an  estate  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  as  the 
two  were  crossing  the  square  they  met  a  councillor- 
general.  "  Monsigneur  le  Comte  de  Paris !  "  said  the 
prince's  companion.  "Why,  what  on  earth  are  you 
doing  here  ? "  said  the  councillor-general,  taken  rather 
by  surprise,  and  uttering  exactly  what  he  thought.  He 
might  have  been  more  polite,  but  he  just  expressed  the 
general  feeling.  The  townspeople  knew  who  the  prince 
was,  but  did  not  care,  and  only  wondered  what  could 
have  brought  him  amongst  them  ;  as  for  the  countiy 
people,  it  is  the  simple  truth  that  they  really  did  not 
know  what  his  title  meant,  or  who  he  was,  or  what 
position  he  occupied  in  the  country.  He  went  to  visit  a 
mine  one  day,  and  it  happened,  a  few  hours  later,  that  I 
visited  the  same  mine.  "  You  have  had  the  Count  of 
Paris  to-day,"  I  said  to  the  owner  of  the  place.  "  Yes," 
he  answered ;  "  he  went  all  over  the  works,  and  when 


Orleanism  and  Legitimacy.  201 

he  was  gone  I  explained  to  the  miners  that  he  was 
heir  to  Louis  Philippe,  but  they  said  he  was  no 
prince  at  all  because  he  gave  them  nothing  to  drink." 
Active  hatred  would  be  a  much  more  favourable  sign 
for  a  royal  family  than  this  complete  indifference. 
Hatred  bears  some  relation  to  love  ;  it  is  the  shadow 
of  love,  or  the  complementary  colour  of  love,  but  in- 
difference is  the  hopeless  death  of  both  love  and 
loyalty.  That  tour  of  the  Count  of  Paris  was  gene- 
rally believed  to  have  been  undertaken  with  a  view  to 
test  the  popular  feeling — to  see  whether  there  were  any 
embers  of  Orleanist  loyalty  yet  alive  in  the  provinces. 
Shortly  after  his  return  to  Paris,  the  next  thing  we 
heard  of  him  was  that  he  had  gone  to  Frohsdorf,  and 
that  there  was  no  longer  any  Orleanist  party  at  all. 
The  end  of  Orleanism  caused  no  emotion,  partly, 
perhaps,  because  public  feeling  had  .been  a  little  hurt 
by  the  readiness  with  which  the  princes  had  claimed 
and  accepted  a  large  sum  of  money  at  a  time  of  great 
national  distress.  Legitimacy  was  much  stronger  than 
Orleanism  in  the  sentiment  which  it  excited,  and  would 
have  been  irresistibly  strong  had  its  adherents  been 
more  numerous.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  legitimist 
enthusiasm  in  the  upper  classes  at  the  time  when 
MacMahon  assumed  the  Presidency.  I  well  remember 
how  most  people  who  aspired  to  some  social  position 
decorated  themselves  with  fleurs-de-lis  in  one  form  or 
another.  The  mystic  flower  dangled  from  gentlemen's 
watch-chains,  and  ladies  wore  it  on  their  lockets.  Still, 
it  is  impossible  to  say  how  much  of  this  was  really 
loyal  sentiment,  and  how  much  the  assertion  of  caste 


2O2  Freedom  of  Elections. 

and    social    position.      The   false    nobility   were   very 
forward  in  little  demonstrations  of  this  kind,  to  sepa- 
rate    themselves     from    vulgar     republicanism.       The 
Government    always    looked   with    a    kindly   eye    on 
legitimist  demonstrations,  and  nobody  was  ever   pun- 
ished  for  displaying   the  fleur-de-lis,   whereas    people 
were  punished    at   once   and   severely   for   selling   pot 
figures  with  the  cap  of   liberty.      I   always  wondered 
whether  the   royalist   sentiment   really  existed,   in   its 
genuineness,  amongst  the  professed  Legitimists  them- 
selves.    I  do   believe  that  some  of  them   felt  it,  but 
certainly  not  all  of  them — perhaps  not  very  many  of 
them.     Orleanism  was  never  a  faith  at  all  ;  it  had  not 
the    necessary   conditions   for   a   faith  ;    the   Orleanist 
royalty  had  never  been  more  than  a  royalty  of  con- 
venience.   On  the  other  hand,  the  Republicans  had  faith 
in   the   good    of   popular   representation,   and   faith  in 
popular  rights,  which  may  account  for  the  steady  pro- 
gress of  their  cause.     They  had  undergone  incessant 
vexations,  and  small  or  great  persecutions.     Even  after 
the  nominal  establishment  of  the  Republic,  men  were 
looked  upon  by  the  upper  classes  as  enemies  to  social 
order  if  they  ventured  to  advocate  free  elections.     Men 
of  good  social  position,  who  declared  themselves   on 
the  side  of  representative  government,  lest  caste  by  it. 
On  the  other  hand,  I  have  heard,  not  once  nor  twice, 
but  frequently,  the  most  outspoken  hopes  that  if  once 
an  absolutist  government  were  established,  the  elections 
might  be  put  under  official  influence,  and  compelled  to 
yield  results  in  conformity  with  official  requirements. 
"  If  the  elections  are  free  they  will  be  bad ;  in  France, 


Honest  and  Dishonest  Governments.  203 


the  Government  must  make  the  elections;  it  is  the  only 
way  to  secure  good  results."  This  used  to  be  said  in 
the  most  undisguised  manner. 

The  reader  need  not  apprehend,  in  a  work  of  this 
kind,  any  elaborate  discussion  of  political  questions, 
such  as  might  be  appropriate  in  a  series  of  long 
review  articles,  with  plenty  of  room  for  detailed 
arguments ;  but  I  may  say  that  in  my  view  the  most 
demoralizing  of  all  governments  is  the  government 
which  is  really  one  thing  whilst  it  professes  to  be 
another.  A  downright  honest  despotism  may  be 
terrible,  but  it  is  not  disgusting  or  demoralizing.  The 
captain  of  a  ship  is  an  honest  despot ;  he  does  not 
profess  to  govern  on  representative  principles,  but 
his  authority  does  not  demoralize.  A  country  may 
be  governed  like  a  ship ;  there  may  be  a  captain  of 
the  whole  country  who  says,  "  My  will  is  law,"  and 
punishes  disobedience  as  disobedience  is  punished 
on  shipboard.  At  the  other  extremity  of  the  scale 
you  have  the  honest  popular  government,  which  is 
founded,  not  upon  the  will  cf  the  captain,  but  on 
that  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  State — the  government 
in  which  the  executive  only  attempts  to  execute  the 
will  of  the  country,  and  resigns  office  so  soon  as  it 
finds  itself  in  opposition  to  it.  But  between  these 
honest  governments  lie  the  varieties  of  dishonest  ones, 
in  which  there  are  elections ;  but  elections  under 
official  influence,  with  official  candidatures,  or  else  an 
underhand  system  of  favouritism,  by  which  the  can- 
didate of  one  colour  is  allowed  to  do  all  he  can  to 
advance  his  interests,  and  the  candidate  of  another 


204  Interference  in  Elections. 

colour  is  hindered  as  much  as  possible.  If  there  is 
anything  in  modern  French  politics  which  is  thoroughly 
disgusting  to  a  modern  Englishman,  it  is  the  cool 
cynicism  which  often  expresses  a  tranquil  confidence 
in  the  corrupting  powers  of  the  authorities.  The  open 
official  candidature  was  revolting  enough,  but  there 
is  a  kind  of  candidature  which  is  even  more  revolting 
than  that — the  candidature  which  is  not  openly  official, 
but  which  relies  upon  official  assistance  of  an  under- 
hand kind.  It  is,  however,  becoming  every  year  more 
difficult  for  a  French  government  to  get  elections 
done  according  to  its  own  fancy.  The  electoral  body 
has  of  late  begun  to  perceive  that  it  can  have 
its  will,  if  it  has  only  the  resolution  to  exercise  it, 
and  the  elections  become  less  and  less  controllable 
by  the  Government  of  the  day.  It  may  even  be 
asserted  that  there  is  a  growing  tendency  to  vote  for 
the  candidate  who  is  known  to  be  disagreeable  to  the 
Government.  This  is  not  a  good  thing  in  itself,  for 
the  Government  ought  not  even  to  have  influence 
enough  to  cause  the  election  of  the  candidate  whom 
it  dislikes ;  but  the  consequence  may  be  total  absten- 
tion from  interference  on  the  part  of  the  authorities, 
as  it  Is  becoming  evident  that  their  own  interest 
advises  it.  In  one  department,  the  municipal  elections 
and  those  of  the  arrondissements  have  been  more  and 
more  republican  on  every  successive  occasion,  in  spite 
of  great  clerical  and  aristocratic  influence.  A  direct 
interference  of  the  authorities  would  produce  radical 
or  communal  elections. 

The    present    state    of    feeling   (1875)    in    different 


Hopes  for  the  Future.  205 


parties  is  briefly  this :  The  Legitimists  say  the  country 
is  going  to  perdition,  and  express  the  utmost  moral 
disapproval  of  MacMahon,  whom  they  look  upon  as 
a  selfish  betrayer  of  their  trust ;  the  Bonapartists  are 
discouraged  for  the  present,  but  express  a  firm  belief 
that,  in  spite  of  appearances,  Prince  Louis  Napoleon 
is  destined  to  be  Emperor  some  day ;  the  Republicans 
believe  that  representative  institutions  are  gradually 
establishing  themselves,  or  that  the  force  of  circum- 
stances is  gradually  establishing  them.  Perhaps  a 
foreign  resident  may  have  a  chance  of  forming  a 
more  independent  and  more  just  opinion  than  many 
of  those  who  are  in  the  heat  and  dust  of  the 
conflict  My  hope  for  France  is,  that  a  system  of 
regularly  working  representative  government  may  be 
the  final  result  of  the  long  and  eventful  Revolution, 
and  that  this  form  of  government  may  give  the 
country  certain  measures  which  it  very  greatly  needs. 
A  thorough  system  of  national  education  is  one  of 
them,  a  real  religious  equality  is  another.  These  would 
never  be  conceded  by  a  French  monarchy  of  any 
type  with  which  past  experience  has  made  the  country 
familiar.  It  is  something  to  have  what  the  country 
has  acquired  already.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  have, 
for  the  middle  classes,  so  vast  and  (on  the  whole)  so 
admirable  an  institution  as  the  truly  national  French 
University,  which,  though  often  sneered  at,  both  at 
home  and  abroad,  has  done  much  for  the  general  en- 
lightenment of  the  country,  and  is  still  continuing 
its  work.  It  is  a  great  thing  that  in  a  country  where 
the  great  majority  of  citizens  belong,  at  least  nominally, 


206  The  Preset  t  Constitution. 

to  the  most  intolerant  religion  in  the  world,  different, 
and  even  opposite,  religions  should  be  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  State,  and  subsidized  by  the  State ; 
although  this  may  have  the  curious  practical  con- 
sequence that  the  State  pays  hostile  sectarians  for 
attacking  each  other  from  their  pulpits.  But  these 
concessions  are  not  broad  enough  for  the  wants  of 
the  present  age.  It  has  become  desirable,  not  only 
that  the  middle  classes  should  be  taught  Latin,  but 
that  the  peasantry  should  be  taught  French,  and 
not  left  in  a  state  of  ignorance  like  that  of  their  own 
oxen.  It  has  become  desirable,  too,  that  diversities 
of  religious  belief  should  be  allowed  to  establish  them- 
selves openly  in  diversities  of  worship  and  practice, 
independently  of  State  interference,  and  outside  of 
the  four  categories  which  are  alone  recognized  by 
the  State.  The  only  hope  for  these  things,  and  for 
many  other  things  which  the  country  needs,  and  is 
beginning  to  feel  that  it  needs,  lies  in  the  establishment 
of  a  bond-fide  representative  government ;  and  as  in 
France  there  is  not  the  faintest  reason  to  expect  that 
the  country  will  ever  be  blessed  with  a  Queen  Victoria, 
and  a  succession  of  monarchs  reigning,  but  not 
governing,  the  only  chance  of  real  representation  lies 
in  the  Republic.  The  present  constitution  may  not 
be  perfect,  but  I  do  seriously  believe  it  to  be  by 
far  the  best  const.tution  the  country  ever  possessed, 
and  the  one  most  in  conformity  with  its  needs.  One 
of  its  greatest  merits  is  to  provide  for  changes  which 
are  legally  foreseen,  and  by  that  means  doing  much 
to  avoid  the  danger  of  illegal  revolutions.  The  French 


The  Two  First  Presidents.  207 

are  said  to  be  impatient.  In  politics  they  are  scarcely, 
if  at  all,  more  impatient  than  the  English  They 
have  patience  enough,  at  any  rate,  to  endure  an  un- 
popular ruler  for  seven  years,  and  it  may  be  doubted 
whether  Englishmen  would  do  more.  Besides,  a 
President  could  scarcely,  in  the  nature  of  things,  have 
had  time  to  become  thoroughly  unpopular  before  the 
third  year  of  his  term  of  office,  which  would  only 
leave  four  years  of  endurance  for  the  country.  He 
may  even  become  more  popular.  MacMahon  is  de- 
cidedly better  liked  than  he  was  at  first.  He  will 
never  get  the  reputation  of  being  a  clever  man  ;  but 
there  is  a  sort  of  simple  dignity  about  him  which 
pleases,  and  inspires  a  certain  respect  and  confidence. 
He  behaved  well,  too,  and  very  unlike  a  tyrant,  in 
rejecting  the  suggestion  that  he  should  appoint  a 
certain  number  of  senators  by  an  exercise  of  personal 
authority.  He  has  shown  on  one  or  two  occasions 
a  good  deal  of  moral  courage,  and  has  conveyed  the 
impression  that  he  is  a  person  to  be  relied  upon.  It 
is  much  in  favour  of  the  new  institutions  that  the 
two  first  Presidents  should  have  been  both  consider- 
able men,  though  of  such  different  orders.  The 
country  has  been  so  deeply  divided  by  tragic  events 
in  the  past,  by  tempests  of  rage  and  bloodshed,  that 
any  immediate  reconciliation  between  parties  must  be 
considered  hopeless ;  but  it  is  by  no  means  impossible 
that  some  time  in  the  next  century  these  deep 
divisions  may  be  remembered  by  Frenchmen  as  we 
remember  the  events  of  the  '45,  or  even  the  remoter 
contest  between  Parliament  and  the  Crown.  There 


208  Future  Political  Hatreds. 

will  be  divisions  still,  as  there  are  sure  to  be  in 
every  healthy  State  where  politics  are  openly  discussed  ; 
but  it  may  be  reasonably  expected  that  political 
hatreds  will  not  be  more  deadly  than  they  are  to-day 
in  England,  between  ordinary  Liberals  and  Conserva- 
tives. 


20Q 


CHAPTER   XI. 

The  Peasant  World — A  Modern  Scythia — Tradition  and  Rumour 
— Notions  Current  among  the  Peasantry — Slight  Influence  of 
the  Priests — Strange  Notions  about  the  Pope — Origin  of 
these  Ideas — The  Peasant  Vote — Aristocratic  Influence-- 
Republicanism and  Bonapartism  among  the  Peasantry — 
Independence  of  the  Rural  Population — Bonapartist  Propa- 
ganda— Cheap  Republican  Newspapers — Security  of  Pro- 
perly— The  old  French  Noblesse — Its  Oppressive  Rights — 
Royal  Oppression — Present  State  of  the  Peasantry — Their 
Ignorance — Their  Intelligence — Their  Good  Manners — Want 
of  Patriotism  and  the  Reason  for  it — Absence  of  Historical 
and  Geographical  Knowledge — Absence  of  High  Sentiments 
— Rigour  of  Custom — Frugal  Habits — The  old  Rustic  Lan- 
guage— Specimens  of  Poetry — Rustic  Singing. 

IN  the  present  chapter  I  intend  to  say  something  about 
a  class  of  persons  of  whom  Englishmen  generally  know 
hardly  anything,  and  yet  that  class  is  the  very  bone 
and  muscle  of  Franc,-.  I  intend  to  say  something  about 
the  peasantry. 

The  peasant- world  is  a  world  by  itself,  and  a  very 
vast  and  important  one.  How  small  and  insignificant, 
in  the  number  of  human  lives  which  are  dedicated  to 
them,  are  the  pursuits  of  art  and  science  in  comparison 
with  agriculture !  The  farmer  is  everywhere,  the  artist 
and  man  of  science  only  here  and  there  in  the  great 
towns,  or  if  in  the  country,  isolated  like  swimmers  in 
the  ocean.  M.  Renan  speaks  of  states  like  France  as 
vast  Scythias  with  little  spots  of  intellectual  civilization, 

P 


2IO  France  a  Scythia. 

scattered  over  them  at  wide  intervals!7  Our  habits  of 
life,  our  newspapers  and  railways,  which  bring  the  little 
points  of  light  together,  make  us  forget  the  width  of 
the  intervals  and  the  millions  of  people  who  live  in 
them.  From  the  intellectual  point  of  view,  France  is  a 
Scythia  with  very  small  colonies  of  Athenians  to  be 
found  in  it  here  and  there.  The  true  Scythae  are  the 
peasantry,  the  Athenians  are  the  little  groups  of  culti- 
vated people  in  the  towns  or  the  isolated  ones  in  a  few 
of  the  country-houses.  In  this  chapter  I  propose  to 
travel  with  the  reader  in  the  real  Scythia,  not  with  a 
comfortable  travelling-carriage  full  of  books  and  news- 
papers and  luxuries  which  keep  us  still  in  Athens,  but 
on  foot  amongst  the  Scythae  themselves.  We  will  hear 
them  speak  in  their  own  language,  and  see  them  leading 
their  own  life. 

First,  on  the  intellectual  side,  what  is  their  condition, 
what  do  they  know,  believe,  or  think  ?  A  certain  pro- 
portion of  them  are  able  to  read,  but  few  can  read  easily 
enough  to  do  it  for  their  pleasure,  or  for  long  together. 
The  book  and  the  newspaper  have  practically  no  direct 
influence  upon  peasant-life.  In  place  of  these,  the 
peasants  have  two  currents  of  communication,  the 
descending  current  which  flows  from  one  generation 
to  another,  and  the  spreading  current  which  flows  out 
in  all  directions  at  once,  as  an  inundation  covers  a  wide 
plain.  The  first  is  Tradition,  the  second  is  Rumour. 
The  two  words  are  of  course  wholly  unknown  in  the 
true  peasant's  vocabulary,  but  he  will  generally  mark 
the  distinction  in  the  way  he  begins  what  he  has  to 
say. 


Tradition.  21 1 

1.  Les  anciens  disent  qtie,  &c. — this  is  Tradition. 

2.  On  dit  maintenant  qiie,  &c. — this  is  Rumour. 

The  first  answers  to  the  history  and  poem  of  the 
cultivated  class ;  it  is  their  Henri  Martin,  their  Michelet, 
their  Victor  Hugo.  The  second  is  the  peasant's  sub- 
stitute for  Le  Temps,  Le  Siecle,  Le  Moniteur, 

The  existence  of  tradition  amongst  uncultivated 
people  is  familar  to  everybody.  We  all  know  that 
there  are  traditions,  and  we  have  a  general  conception 
of  the  manner  in  which  they  are  handed  down  from 
one  generation  to  another,  in  the  talk  of  the  winter 
evenings.  This  has  been  so  beautifully  expressed  in 
three  of  the  most  perfect  stanzas  Macaulay  ever  wrote 
that  I  cannot  resist  the  temptation  to  enliven  this  page 
by  quoting  them  : — 

w  And  in  the  nights  of  winter, 

When  the  cold  north  winds  blow, 
And  the  long  howling  of  the  wolves 

Is  heard  amidst  the  snow; 
When  round  the  lonely  cottage 

Roars  loud  the  tempest's  din, 
And  the  good  logs  of  Algidus 

Roar  louder  yet  within  ; 

u  When  the  oldest  cask  is  open'd, 

And  the  largest  lamp  is  lit ; 
When  the  chestnuts  glow  in  the  embers. 

And  the  kid  turns  on  the  spit ; 
When  young  and  old  in  circle 

Around  the  fire-brands  close  ; 
When  the  girls  are  weaving  baskets, 

And  the  lads  are  shaping  bows  ; 

"  When  the  good  man  mends  his  armour 

And  trims  his  helmet's  plume  ; 
When  the  good  wife's  shuttle  merrily 
Goes  flashing  through  the  loom  ; 

P  2 


212  N    Rumour. 

With  weeping  and  with  laughter, 

Still  is  the  story  told 
How  well  Horatius  kept  the  bridge 

In  the  brave  days  of  old." 

This  is  tradition ;  this  is  the  way  traditions  are 
handed  down  amongst  an  unlettered  people  in  the 
talk  of  the  winter  fireside.  But  Rumour  holds  her 
court  in  the  market-place.  The  markets  are  the  news- 
papers of  a  great  unlettered  peasantry.  It  is  said  that 
the  news  of  any  important  occurrence  will  spread  all 
through  the  poorest  classes  of  India,  with  a  rapidity 
which  seems  utterly  unaccountable,  and  that  it  is  not 
inaccurate.  What  I  have  seen  of  the  French  peasantry 
leads  me  to  accept,  without  surprise,  the  rapidity  with 
which  news  is  said  to  reach  every  peasant  in  India,  but 
what  is  said  about  its  accuracy  surprises  me.  In  France 
the  peasantry  all  know  the  same  piece  of  news  at  the 
same  time,  but  the  piece  of  news  is  almost  invariably 
a  myth.  What  the  peasants  are  saying  and  thinking  in 
one  department  of  France  at  any  given  time,  they  are 
saying  and  thinking  in  other  departments  a  hundred 
leagues  away,  though  there  may  be  no  obvious  com- 
munication between  them.  The  notion  which  gains 
currency  is  generally  some  notion  utterly  unimaginable 
by  cultivated  minds,  and  as  remote  from  the  truth  as 
any  misrepresentation  of  modern  personages  and  events 
possibly  can  be  ;  but  a  notion  which  is  believed  by 
millions  in  a  country  of  universal  suffrage  may  be 
worth  the  attention  even  of  the  enlightened.  English 
people  fancy  that  the  minds  of  the  French  peasantry 
are  entirely  in  the  hands  of  the  Roman  Catholic  clergy, 


Peasants  and  Priests.  213 

but  this  is  very  far  from  being  true ;  the  peasant-mind 
seems  to  be  almost  entirely  self-poised,  self-centred, 
and  to  exist  according  to  some  laws  of  its  own  being, 
which  for  us  are  so  obscure  as  to  be  almost  inscrutable. 
I  have  often  talked  with  priests  on  this  subject,  and 
they  tell  me  that  they  are  utterly  powerless  against  the 
rumours  which  are  the  news  of  the  peasantry.  An 
excellent  instance  of  this  is  the  succession  of  notions 
unfavourable  to  the  Pope,  and  to  the  whole  priesthood, 
which  pervaded  the  French  peasantry  some  years  ago. 
Evidently  the  priests  did  not  set  these  notions  in  circu- 
lation, and  they  were  as  unable  to  contend  against  them 
as  if  they  had  been  part  of  the  phenomena  of  the 
weather.  During  the  Franco-German  war,  the  priests 
were  universally  believed  by  the  peasantry  to  be  agents 
of  the  Prussian  Government,  and  whenever  any  priest 
tried  to  collect  a  little  money  for  parochial  purposes,  it 
was  believed  that  he  sent  it  to  Prussia.  I  need  not  say 
that  such  a  suspicion  was  unfounded,  but  I  may  point 
out  that  it  was  exactly  the  reverse  of  the  truth,  for  the 
priest  was  much  more  anti  Prussian  than  the  peasant 
himself.  The  priest  had  theological  reasons  for 
hating  Prussia,  which  subsequent  events  have  proved 
to  be  perfectly  well  founded.  In  this  instance  I 
venture  to  think  that  I  can  trace  the  delusion  to  its 
source.  The  belief  that  the  priests  were  Prussian 
agents  had  been  preceded  a  year  or  two  before  by 
another  -idea,  to  the  effect  that  the  Pope  aspired  to  the 
French  throne,  and  was  only  prevented  from  making 
himself  King  of  France  by  a  timely  measure  of  pre- 
caution on  the  part  of  Napoleon  III.,  who  sent  troops 


214  Papal  Francs. 

to  Rome  to  keep  the  bellicose  Holy  Father  quiet. 
This  was  the  peasant's  explanation  of  the  re-occupation 
of  Rome  by  the  French.  As  the  Pope  wanted  to  make 
himself  King  of  France,  he  would  naturally  ally  himself 
with  the  Prussians,  who  were  also  enemies  of  France. 
But  we  are  not  yet  at  the  true  origin  of  the  notion  of 
Papal  hostility  to  France.  The  myth  did  not  make  the 
Pope  unpopular,  it  was  his  unpopularity  that  made  the 
myth.  What,  then,  was  the  first  cause  of  his  unpopu- 
larity ?  It  is  directly  traceable  to  a  certain  trick  about 
franc-pieces,  which  was  executed  by  the  Papal  treasury, 
and  certainly  showed  considerable  ingenuity  in  the  art 
of  profitable  coinage.  There  was  a  monetary  convention 
(still  existing)  between  France,  Italy,  Belgium,  and 
Switzerland,  by  which  the  silver  coinage  of  the  four 
nations  acquired  a  common  circulating  power.  The 
Papal  State,  which  then  enjoyed  a  nominal  indepen- 
dence, did  not  join  this  convention,  but  the  Roman 
mint  inundated  France  with  franc-pieces  bearing  the 
benignant  effigy  of  his  Holiness.  For  a  considerable 
time,  by  the  indulgence  of  the  French  Government, 
these  pieces  circulated  at  their  nominal  value  of  a  franc, 
but  as  the  Roman  mint  found  the.  trade  profitable,  it 
went  on  producing  the  coins  in  unlimited  numbers,  so 
that  at  last  the  French  Government  was  compelled  to 
announce  that  they  could  not  be  received  by  officials  for 
more  than  their  real  intrinsic  value  as  so  much  metal. 
Shopkeepers  immediately  followed  the  same  rule,  and 
the  Papal  franc  suddenly  fell,  all  over  France,  to  the 
value  of  ninety  centimes  at  the  utmost,  whilst  many 
would  not  receive  it  all,  as  it  was  no  longer  legal  tender. 


Papal  Francs.  215 

Thousands  of  peasants  had  these  Papal  coins  in  their 
possession,  and  the  peasantry  feel  a  measure  of  this 
kind  more  keenly  than  any  other  class,  both  because 
they  attach  a  greater  value  to  small  sums  of  money 
than  other  people  do,  and  also  because  they  hoard  sums 
in  actual  coins.  A  peasant  is  always  likely  to  have 
more  silver  by  him  than  a  squire.  Well,  the  peasants 
found  themselves  suddenly  losers  of  two  sous  on  every 
Papal  franc  in  their  possession.  If  the  Roman  mint 
had  deliberately  contrived  a  means  for  making  the 
French  peasantry  hate  the  Pope,  they  could  not  have 
contrived  it  more  ingeniously.  The  very  association 
of  the  Pope's  portrait  *vith  the  loss  of  two  sous  was 
enough  to  make  him  detested.  The  peasant  contem- 
plated the  portrait  at  the  very  instant  when  the  tax- 
gatherer  or  shopkeeper  retained  the  two  sous,  and 
remembered  that  benignant  ecclesiastical  visage  ever 
afterwards,  just  as  we  remember  the  face  of  some 
swindler  who  has  cheated  us.  The  peasantry  knew 
no  delicate  distinction  betwen  the  beautifully  clever 
financial  operations  of  the  Roman  mint  and  the  honesty 
of  the  Pope  himself — the  two  sous  were  lost  for  ever, 
and  that  was  enough.  After  that  the  great  peasant- 
•  world  was  ready  to  believe  anything  about  the  Pope, 
provided  only  that  it  was  unfavourable  enough.  He 
wanted  to  be  King  of  France.  He  was  the  ally  of  Prussia. 
All  his  priests  were  enemies  and  traitors.  The  reader 
may  perhaps  wonder  how  it  came  to  pass  that  the 
spiritual  functions  of  the  Pope  and  his  clergy  were  not 
sufficient  to  protect  them  from  such  a  depreciation  in 
the  popular  esteem,  and  it  might  be  an  interesting 


216  Priests  and  Nobles. 

speculation  to  inquire  whether  a  loss  of  ten  per  cent 
on  silver  coins  would  be  enough  to  make  the  Irish 
peasantry  anti-Papal  in  a  few  days ;  but,  however  this 
may  be,  I  know  that  in  eastern  and  central  France, 
the  religious  influence  of  the  clergy  was  quite  un- 
able to  check  the  current  of  rural  animosity.  This 
question  about  the  religious  influence  of  the  clergy 
will  have  to  be  considered  more  carefully  a  few  pages 
hence ;  for  the  present  it  is  enough  to  note  that  the 
mysterious  notions  which  pervade  the  peasantry  are 
just  as  likely  to  turn  against  the  clergy  as  against  any 
other  class.  If  we  look  to  the  other  great  power  which 
has  hitherto  been  supposed  to  command  the  reverence 
of  peasants,  the  aristocracy,  we  shall  find  that  it  is  not 
more  safe,  and  that  its  influence,  though  often  real,  is 
always  precarious.  During  the  last  three  or  four  years 
the  rural  aristocracy  have  found  it  impossible  to  com- 
mand the  peasant-vote  in  the  elections.  The  rural 
noblesse  is  composed  almost  entirely  of  people  who, 
whatever  may  be  the  differences  of  opinion  amongst 
themselves,  are  perfectly  unanimous  in  hating  the 
Republic,  and  in  the  determination  to  strangle  or 
smother  it  if  they  can.  They  make  eveiy  effort  to 
influence  the  peasant-vote,  and  yet  the  peasants  voted 
for  Republican  candidates,  in  constantly  increasing 
numbers,  until  the  Government  of  Moral  Order  used 
its  influence  against  the  Republicans,  through  the 
mayors  which  it  appointed  for  the  purpose,  after  which 
the  peasant-vote  began  to  show  a  tendency  in  favour, 
not  of  Legitimacy,  but  of  Bonapartism.  The  Legitimist 
aristocracy  has  done  its  very  utmost  during  the  last 


Independence  of  the  Peasants.  217 

three  or  four  years  to  secure  the  great  peasant-vote, 
upon  which  everything  depended,  and  we  see  with  how 
little  success.  I  can  very  well  remember  the  time  when 
the  writers  in  certain  English  newspapers,  who  knew 
the  French  peasant  no  better  than  they  knew  the  in- 
habitants of  another  planet,  used  to  say  that  it  was 
impossible  to  found  the  Republic,  because  both  the 
nobility  and  the  priesthood  were  against  it,  and  nobles 
and  priests  would,  of  course,  control  the  rural  elections. 
It  was  not  "  of  course  "  at  all.  In  our  neighbourhood 
the  aristocracy  and  priesthood  are  both  exceptionally 
strong.  There  are  many  rich  nobles,  and  our  ancient 
city  is  a  cathedral  city,  with  great  ecclesiastical  estab- 
lishments. The  clergy  are  universally  anti-Republican, 
simply  because  they  know  that  a  Republican  govern- 
ment will  never  restore  the  Pope  to  his  temporal  throne, 
and  that  it  is  likely  to  establish  secular  education  and 
religious  equality  in  France.  The  clergy  are  Legitimist, 
but  in  the  absence  of  Henri  V.  they  prefer  a  Bonaparte 
to  the  Republic.  Our  aristocracy  here  is  as  Legitimist 
as  it  can  be,  and  on  the  whole  it  is  a  wealthy  aristocracy, 
even  yet.  If  the  theory  that  the  peasants  obey  the 
clergy  and  noblesse  were  a  true  theory,  our  part  of  the 
country  ought  always  to  returnXegitimist  candidates  at 
elections,  but  what  is  the  fact?  The  fact  is  that  it 
always  returns  Republican  candidates.  Even  in  the 
very  local  elections,  such  as  those  to  the  conseil-gMral, 
the  peasants  exhibit  this  independence.  You  may  go 
into  remote  places  amongst  the  hills,  where  priest  and 
noble  may  be  supposed  to  rule  absolutely,  arid  yet  find 
the  peasants  voting  in  opposition  to  them.  There  is  a 


21 8  The  Peasant-Vote. 

hill-canton  an  hour's  drive  to  the  north  of  me,  a  place 
lost,  as  you  would  think,  amongst  the  deep  valleys,  with 
the  quietest  of  quiet  villages  for  it  chef-lieu,  and  at  the 
last  election  there  were  two  candidates  for  the  conseil- 
gtntral.  One  was  the  eldest  son  of  a  monarchical  noble- 
man of  very  high  standing,  a  great  proprietor  in  the 
neighbourhood,  representative  of  an  old  family,  a  man 
of  great  ability  and  equally  great  ambition,  who  had 
rendered  very  considerable  services  to  the  public ;  the 
young  man  himself  was  agreeable  and  popular,  tall  and 
good-looking,  an  officer  of  Mobiles,  greatly  liked  by  his 
men,  who  are  all  from  his  own  neighbourhood.  That 
is  just  what  in  England  would  be  called  a  strong  candi- 
date in  a  country-place,  a  popular  young  man  with  all 
the  influences,  including  the  clericals,  to  back  him. 
The  other  candidate  was  a  retired  notary,  living  in  the 
middle  of  a  hill-village — a  moderate  yet  most  decided 
and  energetic  Republican  in  principles,  and  detested  by 
the  clergy,  both  for  his  religious  and  political  views. 
This  notary  had  never,  even  under  the  Empire,  made 
any  secret  of  his  opinions  on  any  subject.  When  it 
came  to  the  voting,  the  young  count,  with  the  priests 
and  aristocracy  to  back  him,  got  700  votes ;  the  notary, 
with  the  priests  and  aristocracy  against  him,  got  more 
than  1,200. 

The  importance  of  the  peasant-vote  has  led  the 
political  parties  to  try  different  ways  of  influencing  it. 
The  Legitimists  use  direct  personal  influence  generally, 
through  priests  and  ladies,  and  the  latter  are  excellent 
political  agents,  because  they  go  about  in  the  cottages 
and  farms  on  missions  of  charity,  or  for  mere  neigh- 


Political  Agents.  219 


hourly  kindness.  The  priest  is  a  good  political  agent 
too,  because  he  is  always  at  his  post,  and  always  going 
about  his  parish,  where  every  voter  is  known  to  him. 
We  have  just  seen  that  the  priest  cannot  make  the 
peasantry  do  exactly  what  they  "ought"  to  do,  but 
the  priest  is  nevertheless  (as  Prince  Bismarck  knows) 
the  most  persistent  of  political  agents,  and  when  he 
dies  another  succeeds  him  immediately.  There  are 
about  50,000  priests  in  France,  and  at  least  100,000 
active  Legitimist  ladies,  all  doing  what  they  can  to 
make  the  peasant  bien  pensant,  though  not  very  suc- 
cessfully. There  is  something  heroic  in  the  obstinacy 
with  which  the  peasant-mind  resists  these  male  and 
female  armies  of  persuasion.  With  regard  to  Orleanism, 
the  difficulty  is  that  the  peasantry  cannot  clearly  under- 
stand it.  They  do  not  know  who  made  Louis  Philippe 
king,  or  why  he  was  made  king ;  they  do  not  know 
who  Philippe  Egalit6  was,  nor  anything  about  him. 
Orleanism  and  its  raison  d'etre  are,  from  their  nature, 
amongst  those  things  which  the  uncultivated,  mind  is 
always  necessarily  puzzled  about.  Many  English  people 
who  can  read,  and  consider  themselves  much  cleverer 
than  French  peasants,  are  hazy  about  Orleanism,  and 
could  not  give  a  clear  account  of  it,  whereas  the  nature 
of  Bonapartism  is  quite  plain  to  them.  Bonapartism  is 
plain  also  to  the  French  peasant,  and  so  is  Legitimacy, 
but  he  cannot  make  out  the  pedigree  of  the  Count  of 
Paris.  There  has  never  been  an  efficient  Orleanist 
propaganda  amongst  the  peasantry,  but  the  Bonapartists 
are  very  active  amongst  them,  and  know  very  accurately 
the  nature  of  the  peasant-mind.  They  have  managed 


22O  Political  Propaganda. 

to  get  it  very  generally  believed  that  Napoleon  was 
betrayed  at  Sedan,  and  that  he  was  a  very  good  and 
capable  sovereign,  deceived  to  his  ruin  by  treacherous 
subordinates  in  the  pay  of  Prussia.  This  idea  is  now 
quite  generally  accepted  by  the  peasantry,  and  it  is  only 
partially  false  ;  for  the  truth  is,  that  Napoleon  was  ruined 
for  having  trusted  to  incapable  and  untruthful  subordi- 
nates, though  they  were  not  precisely  traitors  as  the 
peasant  understands  treachery.  As  the  reader  is  already 
aware  from  the  newspapers,  the  Bonapartists  employ 
photographs  and  printed  cards  as  their  means  of  making 
the  Prince  Imperial  well  known  in  the  cottages ;  their 
agents  have  worked  in  our  own  neighbourhood,  and  not 
quite  unsuccessfully,  for  the  peasant  accepts  the  portrait 
willingly  enough,  and  it  makes  him  remember  that  the 
Prince  exists — in  exile.  The  results  of  these  efforts  have 
been  visible  in  the  increase  of  Bonapartist  votes  at  the 
elections.  The  Republicans  have  done  what  they  could 
on  their  part  to  influence  the  peasantry,  but  the  strong- 
handed  recent  administrations  have  been  so  resolutely 
against  them  that  they  have  worked  with  the  greatest 
difficulty.  Bonapartist  mayors  and  Legitimist  land- 
owners might  exercise  all  kinds  of  local  influence  with 
impunity,  but  let  a  Republican  try  to  influence  anybody, 
and  the  mighty  hand  of  authority  was  down  upon  him 
at  once.  A  vigorous  attempt  was  made  to  establish 
little  cheap  Republican  newspapers,  treating  of  rural 
topics,  such  as  might  interest  the  peasantry,  and  includ- 
ing in  each  number  a  dose  of  plain  intelligible  Republican 
doctrine.  The  idea  was  good,  but  there  were  very  great 
practical  difficulties.  In  the  first  place,  few  peasants 


The  Peasantry  and  Republicanism.  221 

can  read  a  newspaper,  and  fewer  still  will  incur  the  ex- 
pense of  purchasing  one.  Then  it  unluckily  happens 
that  a  newspaper  is  just  one  of  those  things  which 
awaken  the  jealousy  of  authority  in  France,  which 
always  has  its  eye  upon  them.  A  cheap  little  Republican 
paper  was  like  poison  to  the  Government  of  Moral 
Order,  which  conceived  that  it  had  a  mission  to  extir- 
pate the  virus.  The  writers,  too,  in  these  little  journals 
had  not  the  wisdom  of  serpents,  if  they  had  their  stings. 
They  were  not  prudent,  they  gave  full  expression  to 
those  feelings  of  indignation  against  powerful  enemies 
which  it  would  have  been  wiser  to  moderate.  Half 
France  being  under  the  state  of  siege,  nothing  was 
easier  than  to  suspend  and  suppress  the  journals  and 
fine  or  imprison  the  journalists.  Yet,  notwithstanding 
all  these  impediments,  the  spread  of  Republicanism 
amongst  the  peasantry  is  one  of  the  most  striking,  and 
one  of  the  most  unexpected,  of  recent  changes.  It  is 
conservative  Republicanism,  of  course,  for  the  peasant  is 
always  conservative ;  but  it  is  only  the  more  likely  to 
last.  A  destructive  Republicanism  could  only  be  a 
momentary  aberration  in  the  peasant's  mind,  and  would 
be  opposed  to  the  whole  tenor  of  his  habits.  Con- 
servative Republicanism  is  quite  in  harmony  with  his 
habits.  He  is  very  independent  in  feeling,  he  likes 
to  be  free  from  the  pressure  of  a  powerful  nobility,  he 
has  traditions  of  the  dreadful  time  when  his  forefathers 
had  to  quit  their  own  fields  and  leave  them  untilled,  to 
slave  for  the  noble  or  the  king ;  of  the  time  when  they 
had  to  be  up  all  night  through  to  beat  the  castle  moats 
with  long  rods  to  prevent  the  frogs  from  croaking  and 


222  77/i?  Peasantry  and  Republicanism. 


disturbing  the  repose  of  the  seigneur.     He  remembers 
still,  through  his  traditions,  how  in  the  old  times  the 
land  belonged  to  the  feudal  baron,  who  had  power  to 
compel  the  inhabitants  of  the  villages  to  work  for  the 
embellishment  of  his  own  grounds,  so  that  the  peasant 
had  never  a  week  that  he  could  call   his  own.     These 
recollections   give   him  a  decided    inclination    towards 
modern  ideas  ;  but  one  thing  has  until  recently  prevented 
him  from  becoming  Republican.     His  aim  is  to  possess 
land,  and  he  has  been  told  all  along  that  the  Republic 
means  the  abolition  of  the  rights  of  property.     During 
the  last  few  years,  however,  he  has  made  the  discovery 
that  property  may  be  secure  under  a  Republican  form  of 
government.     He  sees  great  bourgeois  who  have  good 
estates,  and  yet  declare  for  the  Republic,  and  then  he 
thinks,  M  If  they  are  not  afraid  for  their  property,  why 
should  I  be  afraid  for  mine  t  "     Once  let  the  French  pea- 
sant be  completely  delivered  from  the  fear  of  the  dividers 
of  spoil,  "  les  partageux"  and  he  becomes  Republican 
very  easily,  from  hereditary  dislike  to  the  domination  of 
the  noble.     Nobody  has  profited  more  than  he  by  the 
changes  which  have  transformed  the  country,  nobody 
has  less  reason  to  wish  for  a  return  to  the  past.     He  was 
a  slave,  and  is  a  freeman  ;  'he  was  a  pauper,  ard  is  well- 
to-do  ;  he  was  as  powerless  as  his  own  geese,  and  now 
holds  the  elections  in  his  hands.     Ignorant  as  he  is  even 
yet,  these  things  are  becoming  every  day  more  plain  to 
him,  and  eloquent  indeed  must  those  persuaders  be  who 
can  make  him  believe  that  the  old  times  were  better 
than  the  present. 

It  may  be  worth  while  to  give  two  or  three  pages  to 


The  Old  French  Nob  Jesse.  223 

a  slight  sketch  of  the  different  conditions  of  the  French 
peasantry  in  the  old  times  and  the  new,  and  the  more 
so  that,  in  our  own  day,  reactionary  Frenchmen  are 
always  ready  to  tell  you  that  the  old  oppressive  rights 
were  merely  forms  of  taxation  which  modern  govern- 
ments have  transmuted  into  money.  A  foreigner  is 
especially  liable  to  be  told  that  the  feudal  oppression 
was  nothing  but  a  reasonable  taxation,  as  easily  borne 
as  the  imposts  of  a  modern  government.  It  need  not 
take  me  long  to  show  how  false  and  disingenuous  this 
theory  is. 

The  old  French  noblesse  was  a  compact  though  ex- 
tensive caste,  as  distinct  from  the  roture  as  the  whites 
in  America  from  the  negroes,  and  enjoying  the  most 
offensive  powers  and  immunities.  Many  of  its  privileges 
were  simply  intolerable.  For  example,  most  English- 
men who  have  travelled  in  France  must  have  observed 
the  remarkable  frequency  of  large  pigeon-cotes  about 
old  castles  and  mansions,  often  in  the  shape  of  a  round 
tower,  detached  from  the  rest  of  the  building.  The 
large  detached  pigeonnier  has  become  so  associated  by 
tradition  with  the  idea  of  the  French  c/idteau,  that  to 
this  day,  when  a  man  wants  to  give  an  air  of  aristocracy 
to  his  house,  he  builds  one  of  these  pigeon-cotes.  Well, 
there  is  nothing  wrong  in  keeping  pigeons  at  your  own 
cost,  but  until  the  4th  of  August,  1789,  there  existed  a 
lordly  right,  execrated  by  the  rural  population,  called 
the  " droit  de  colombier"  By  reason  of  this  droit,  the 
seigneur  had  the  exclusive  right  to  keep  pigeons,  and 
his  pigeons,  which  were  inviolable,  had  the  right  to  stuff 
themselves  at  pleasure  with  the  corn  of  their  owner's 


224  Rights  of  tJte  Old  Noblesse. 

neighbours.     It  is  the  droit  de  colombier  which  explains 
the  existence  of  those  enormous  detached  pigeon-cotes. 
Not  long  since,  in  driving  over  a  property  belonging  to 
a  certain  French  marquis,  I   observed  a   large   isolated 
round  tower  in  the  middle  of  a  field,  and  was  informed 
by  my  companion  that  this  venerable  edifice  owed  its 
existence  to  the  oppressive  droit  de  colombier.     There  it 
stands,  a  monument  of  those  oppressions  of  the  past 
which  we  of  this  generation  do  but  too  easily  forget. 
Besides   his  pigeons,  the  seigneur  enjoyed  a  privilege 
called  "  droit  de  garenne  " — that  is,  the  right  of  keeping 
an  unlimited  rabbit-warren,  the  numerous  population  of 
which  fed  on  his  neighbours'  produce.     Lastly,  he  had 
an   exclusive  right  to  all  other  game.     The  peasants 
detested  these  vexations,  and  were  relieved  from  them 
in  1789.     That  relief  has  been  permanent.     Before  pro- 
ceeding farther  in  the  enumeration  of  the  old  grievances 
of  the  peasant,  we  may  observe  that  these  two  "  rights  " 
were  scarcely  of  the  nature  of  taxation,  as  it  is  under- 
stood in  modern  times.     Modern  taxes  are  levied  upon 
individual   members   of  a  community  for  the  mainte- 
nance of  public  interests  in  which  all  who  pay  taxes  are 
supposed  to  have  a  share.     These  feudal  rights  were 
not  in  support  of  any  public  interest  at  all,  but  simply 
for  the  pleasure  of  the  seigneur.     Well,  if  not  taxation, 
were  they  rent  ?     A  defence  of  them  might  possibly  be 
set  up  on  that  ground.     It  might  be  said  that  they  were 
manorial  rents.     There  are,  however,  two  objections  to 
this  view,— first,  that  the  loss  to  the  peasants  was  not 
accurately  defined,  as  rent  is,  and  secondly,  that  it  was 
not   strictly  limited   to   the   manor,  for  the  seigneurs 


TJie  Corutes.  225 

rabbits  and  pigeons  might  prey  on  his  neighbours'  land, 
whether  within  his  manor  or  not,  and  they  had  no 
redress.  The  accurate  definition  of  the  droit  de  colombier 
and  the  droit  de  garenne,  is  the  private  right  to  establish 
public  nuisances.  However,  these  are  mere  trifles  in 
comparison  with  the  corvte.  It  made  terrible  en- 
croachments upon  the  peasant's  time,  and  for  purposes 
which  were  absolutely  indifferent  to  him.  In  the  middle 
ages  the  corvee  was  almost  exclusively  imposed  by  the 
seigneur ;  but  when  the  kings  of  France  overruled  the 
feudal  chiefs,  they  imposed  great  corvees  of  their  own. 
The  peasant  had  therefore  two  corvtes  perpetually 
hanging  over  him,  one  " seigneuriale"  and  the  other 
" royale'.'  Private  lords  had  the  power  to  command 
corvees  for  the  simple  embellishment  of  their  estates 
and  grounds  ;  they  could  compel  the  peasantry  to  leave 
their  fields  at  the  very  seasons  when  it  was  most  urgent 
that  they  should  labour  in  them,  in  order  to  lay  out 
ornamental  grounds  about  the  chateau,  or  to  establish 
mills  and  baking-ovens  near  the  chateau  which  were  an 
oppression  in  themselves,  for  reasons  which  shall  be 
given  below.  All  this  was  terrible  enough,  but  when 
the  royal  corvte  was  superadded,  the  situation  of  the 
peasant  became  such  that  we  need  not  wonder  at  the 
horrible  accounts  of  his  misery  which  have  come  down 
to  us.  The  King's  intendants  had  the  power  to  impose 
the  corvte  at  will,  for  anything  that  might  be'  construed 
into  the  service  of  the  King.  The  intendants  consi- 
.dered  the  peasantry  very  much  as  shipowners  and  tne 
possessors  of  windmills  consider  the  wind — a  force  pro- 
vided by  nature  gratis,  which  it  is  as  well  to  profit  by  to 

Q 


226  Banalitts. 

the  utmost.  When  they  wanted  a  road,  the  peasants 
were  impressed  to  make  it ;  when  they  wanted  to  buiid 
barracks,  the  peasants  were  called  into  requisition ;  when 
a  regiment  went  from  one  garrison  town  to  another,  the 
peasants  had  to  transport  all  the  material  belonging  to 
it ;  when  convicts  had  to  be  transported  to  the  hulks, 
the  peasants  had  to  supply  horses  and  carts,  stage  after 
stage,  for  the  whole  journey.  They  were  taken  from 
the  most  necessary  labours  of  agriculture  for  all  these 
compulsory  services.  They  had  to  leave  the  field  un- 
sown or  the  harvest  ungarnered  in  order  to  give  unpaid 
labour  to  the  seigneur  or  the  State. 

I  said  that  the  mills  and  baking-ovens  were  an  op- 
pression in  themselves,  so  were  the  huge  granaries  of 
the  chateau.  All  these  things  belonged  to  the  terrible 
institution  of  the  banalit^s.  The  peasant  was  not 
allowed  to  bake  at  home,  his  lord  baked  for  him  and 
fixed  the  price  ;  the  peasant  might  not  keep  his  own 
grain,  his  lord  kept  it  for  him  and  charged  his  own 
price  for  warehouse-room.  What  an  endless  series  of 
personal  inconveniences  and  irresistible  impositions  does 
this  law  of  "  banalites "  represent !  Peasants  coming 
from  a  distance  waiting  for  their  turn  at  the  bakery  or 
the  mill,  not  permitted  to  go  elsewhere  even  in  times  of 
greatest  pressure — useless  to  complain  of  the  manner 
in  which  the  bread  was  baked  or  the  grain  ground,  and 
equally  useless  to  complain  of  the  price  demanded  ! 
Is  it  not  clear  that  a  landlord  who  held  his  tenants  by 
such  a  law  as  this  held  them  not  as  tenants  in  our 
modern  sense,  but  as  serfs  ? 

All  these  arrangements,  the  noble  of  to-day  will  tell 


P  restations.  227 


you,  were  simply  "forms  of  taxation  or  of  rent."  If 
so,  they  were  terribly  oppressive  forms.  They  made 
the^personal  independence  of  the  peasantry  a  simple 
impossibility.  Taxation  paid  in  money  does  not  touch 
personal  independence.  The  peasant  of  to-day  pays 
his  taxes  and  is  free.  He  can  work  all  the  year 
round  on  his  farm.  He  keeps  his  own  grain,  he 
bakes  his  own  bread ;  the  nobleman  who  lives  at  the 
chateau  has  no  power  over  him  unless  he  is  his  landlord, 
and  even  then  the  power  is  very  limited.  Thousands 
of  peasants  are  landowners  themselves,  and  independent 
of  everybody.  They  save  money,  knowing  that  they 
may  keep  the  fruits  of  their  own  industry  for  them- 
selves and  their  children.  The  only  remaining  corvte  is 
the  "prestotions "  for  the  repair  of  the  country  lands, 
and  this  is  very  commonly  executed  by  the  peasants 
themselves,  but  it  differs  from  the  old  corvtes  in  two 
respects.  In  the  first  place,  the  peasant  is  not  compelled 
to  come  and  work  on  fixed  days ;  he  is  simply  served 
with  a  notice  that  he  has  to  carry  a  certain  quantity  of 
stone  within  a  certain  space  of  time,  a  large  latitude 
being  allowed  for  his  convenience.  Secondly,  in  case 
the  peasant  should  be  too  busy  to  do  the  work  in  his 
own  person  or  that  of  his  servants,  the  option  of  a 
money-payment  is  offered  to  him,  and  the  money- 
payment  is  so  equitably  fixed  that  I  generally  prefer  it. 
Finally,  I  may  observe  that  the  country  lanes  are 
especially  for  the  use  of  the  peasantry  themselves, 
whilst  the  baron's  garden  was  for  his  own  pleasure. 

The  peasantry  of  to-day  are,  on  the  whole,  as  happy 
a  class  of  people  as  their  forefathers  were  wretched, 

Q  2 


228  Ignorance  of  the  Peasantry. 


and  the  improvement  is  simply  due  to  those  political 
reforms  which  have  left  the  natural  prudence  and  in- 
dustry of  the  class  full  liberty  to  lead  it  to  prosperity. 
One  of  the  strongest  reasons  for  the  increasing  Repub- 
licanism of  the  peasantry  is  their  recent  belief  that  if 
Henri  V.  came  to  the  throne  he  would  re-establish 
the  old  corvfos — a  very  erroneous  notion,  of  course,  like 
all  the  ideas  which  suddenly  gain  currency  in  the  un- 
cultivated world,  but  it  has  served  the  Republic  well. 
A  Royalist  told  me  that  he  believed  this  idea  had 
been  industriously  spread  amongst  the  peasants  by  the 
Republican  propaganda.  Very  likely  the  Republicans 
may  have  done  their  best  to  propagate  it,  and  yet  all 
such  efforts  would  be  utterly  useless  if  there  were  not  a 
tide  of  peasant-rumour  and  peasant-opinion  to  circulate 
the  idea,  a  tide  which  no  art,  craft,  wisdom,  or  know- 
ledge of  the  instructed  classes  can  either  foresee  or 
direct,  and  against  which  even  the  prodigiously  strong 
and  minutely  perfect  organization  of  the  Church  of 
Rome  is  utterly  unable  to  contend. 

The  ignorance  of  the  French  peasantry  is  difficult  to 
believe  when  you  do  not  know  them,  and  still  more 
difficult  when  you  know  them  well,  because  their 
intelligence  and  tact  seem  incompatible  with  ignorance. 
The  truth  seems  to  be  that  the  peasant  is  intelligent  in 
his  own  sphere,  but  absolutely  ignorant  of  everything 
outside  it.  He  does  not  feel  the  need  of  knowing  more. 
He  lives  in  a  world  so  large  and  so  visibly  important, 
the  peasant-world,  that  its  opinion  of  what  is  necessary 
seems  the  final  decision  of  common-sense.  All  men 
who  are  occupied  in  the  principal  industry  of  a  country 


Si  ate  of  the  Peasant- Mind.  229 

acquire  the  habit  of  an  absolute  reliance  on  their  own 
standard — the  firm  belief  in  their  own  sufficiency.     The 
utility  of  their  practical  work  answers  for  them.     Our 
own   English   middle-class    Philistine,  and  the  French 
bourgeois,   both   know  that   there   is   such   a  thing  as 
culture,  but  despise  it,  and  their  practical  success  proves 
to  their  own  satisfaction  that  culture,  to  say  the  least,  is 
superfluous.     The  French  peasant  is  not  Philistine,  he 
has  not  any  contempt  for  culture,  he  simply  does  not 
know  that  there  is  such  a  thing.     He  does  not  know 
that  science  and  art  and  literature  exist;  perhaps  he 
might  think  them  a  frivolous  waste  of  time  if  he  were 
aware  of  their  existence,  but  not  being  aware,  he  has 
no  Philistine  determination  to  be  stupid,  no  conscious 
obstruct iveness.     A  very  curious  result  of  this  condition 
is  that  the  peasant,  in  our  part  of  France  at  least,  always 
seems  to  have  great  openness  of  mind,  and  seems  much 
less  narrow  than    the   bourgeois,  who   knows   what   is 
above  him  and  sneers  at  it.     Millet,  the  painter,  whose 
death    has    recently  called    especial  attention    to    his 
representation  of  rural  life,  has  in    my  opinion   done 
the  French  peasant  less  than  justice   on   the   side   of 
intelligence.     He  represents  him  as  a  being  in  whom 
intelligence  is  extinguished  under  a  fearful  burden  of 
honourable  yet  deadening   toil — a   being    fulfilling   its 
duties  like  some  patient   animal  darkly  labouring   for 
humanity.     This  is  not  true  of  the  French  peasantry 
round  my  house.     They  are  at  the  same  time  full  of 
intelligence,  and  inconceivably  ignorant.      Their  man- 
ners   are    excellent,    they   have    delicate   perceptions, 
they  have  tact,  they  have  a  certain  refinement  which 


230  English  and  French  Rustics. 

a  brutalized  peasantry  could  not  possibly  have.  If  you 
talk  to  one  of  them  at  his  own  house  or  in  his  field,  he 
will  enter  into  conversation  with  you  quite  easily,  and 
sustain  his  part  in  a  perfectly  becoming  way,  with  a 
pleasant  combination  of  dignity  and  quiet  humour. 
The  interval  between  him  and  a  Kentish  labourer  is 
enormous.  After  being  accustomed  to  the  French 
peasants,  I  happened  to  find  myself  for  a  week  in  a 
Kentish  village,  and  tried  to  make  out  what  I  could 
of  the  rustic  mind  round  about  it,  but  it  seemed  as  if  I 
encountered  a  thick  dense  wall  of  muddy  dulness  and 
obstructiveness.  Hodge  did  not  appear  to  think  that  any 
interchange  of  ideas  between  me  and  him  could  benefit 
either  of  us,  and  I  quickly  became  of  Hodge's  opinion. 
Talk  to  a  French  peasant,  and  he  will  enter  into  your 
ideas  if  he  can  ;  talk  to  Hodge,  and  he  will  stare  at  you. 
It  is  a  pity  that  so  much  civilization  as  the  rustic 
Frenchman  possesses  already  cannot  be  enriched  with 
a  little  more  knowledge.  His  ignorance  is  incredible. 
He  does  not  really  know  what  the  word  France  means. 
During  the  Franco-German  war  many  patriotic  French- 
men were  indignant  at  the  conduct  of  the  peasantry, 
at  their  indifference  to  the  invasion  of  Alsatia  and 
Lorraine,  and  generally  at  the  small  amount  of  patriotic 
sentiment  which  they  exhibited.  But  if  we  really  enter 
into  the  rustic  mind,  we  shall  not  be  surprised  at  its 
insensibility  to  patriotic  appeals.  Fancy  the  condition 
of  a  mind  which  has  no  geographical  knowledge !  I 
knew  an  old  peasant  who  sometimes  asked  me  where 
places  were,  and  his  way  was  this :  he  would  ask  me 
to  point  in  the  direction  of  the  place,  and  when  two 


Peasants  and  Geography.  231 

places  happened  to  lie  in  the  same  direction,  it  was 
almost  impossible  to  make  him  understand  that  they 
were  not  on  the  same  spot.  Rustics  who  are  quite 
ignorant  of  geography  cannot  have  clear  conceptions 
about  so  large  a  country  as  France,  which  has  four 
times  the  area  of  England,  and  nearly  twice  that  of 
all  the  British  Islands  put  together.  You  tell  them  that 
the  war  has  ended  in  the  loss  of  Alsatia  and  Lorraine. 
This  conveys  no  distinct  idea  to  their  minds — why 
should  they  make  sacrifices  for  the  people  of  Alsatia, 
who  were  always  as  foreigners  to  them  ?  The  mind  is 
limited  to  what  it  can  in  some  measure  conceive.  The 
great  modern  States  can  only  be  imagined  by  the 
educated,  and  this  of  itself  is  a  sufficient  reason  why 
they  should  educate  their  inhabitants.  * 

If  the  peasant  cannot  imagine  what  France  is,  still 
less  does  he  know  of  foreign  States.  How  near 
Switzerland  is — so  near  that  the  Alps  are  visible  at 
certain  times  from  all  the  hill-tops  in  this  neighbour- 
hood !  Well,  the  greater  part  of  the  peasantry  here 
have  never  heard  of  Switzerland.  England  they  have 

*  We  knew  a  peasant-girl  who  was  servant  in  a  family  which 
icmoved  to  a  distance  of  about  eighty  miles,  but  still  remained 
in  central  France.  All  the  girl's  family  made  great  opposition  to 
this,  and  wished  the  girl  to  leave  her  place,  because  they  would 
have  it  that  the  new  residence  was  not  in  France.  Reference  to 
the  map  was  useless.  The  girl  accompanied  her  mistress,  but 
soon  received  a  letter,  saying  that  her  reputation  was  lost  in  her 
own  village,  because  she  had  gone  to  misconduct  herself  in  foreign 
parts.  After  that,  her  peasant  relations,  who  were  well-to-do 
people,  declared  they  would  disinherit  her,  if  she  did  not  go  back 
to  her  own  country.  So  she  quitted  (in  tears)  an  affection  \t« 
mistress  to  return  to  her  native  village. 


232  Historical  Notions. 

heard  of,  but  do  not  know  where  it  is,  and  they  con- 
found together  London  and  England,  when  they  have 
heard  of  London  by  chance,  thinking  that  London  is 
the  nation.  I  knew  one  who  thought  that  London  was 
in  France,  and  that  people  might  go  to  it  by  land  or 
water,  at  their  own  choice.  This  ignorance  of  geography 
produces  the  oddest  effects  when  the  peasants  get  hold 
of  names  of  countries  by  accident,  as  will  sometimes 
happen  in  the  most  unaccountable  ways.  One  of  them 
told  me  that  he  had  heard  there  was  going  to  be  a  war 
between  Italy  and  Lapland.  It  was  surprising  to  me 
that  he  should  have  heard  of  Italy,*  but  still  more 
astonishing  that  he  should  have  heard  of  Lapland.  I 
tried  to  show  by  geographical  and  political  reasons 
that  this  war  was  very  improbable,  but  did  not  succeed 
in  removing  the  apprehension  of  it. 

The  historical  notions  of  a  perfectly  illiterate  people 
are  very  vague  traditions.  We  all  know  that  it  is 
difficult  to  remember  history  accurately  without  going 
into  minute  detail,  and  that  the  details  themselves  can 
only  be  retained  when  they  illustrate  some  particular 
period  which  has  an  especial  interest  for  us.  Our 
historical  .knowledge,  with  all  the  aids  of  books,  is  so 
inaccurate  that  few  of  us  could  pass  an  examination 
in  more  than  our  favourite  century,  and  we  should  be 
lucky  if  we  passed  in  that.  What,  then,  should  we  be 
without  the  books  ?  What  is  the  peasant,  who  has  no 
books  ?  Here  we  come  to  one  of  those  subjects  which 

*  The  peasant  has  heard  of  Rome,  and  thinks  that  the  Pope  is 
a  terrible  military  sovereign,  always  likely  to  invade  France,  but 
he  is  not  yet  generally  aware  of  the  unification  of  Italy. 


Absentf  of  High  National  Feeling.  233 

always  seem  to  me  most  suggestive  of  painful  reflec- 
tions. Bad  as  the  past  was  for  the  peasant,  bad  as  the 
times  were  when  Richelieu  and  the  Abbe"  Fleury  held 
on  principle  that  he  ought  not  to  read  or  write,  when 
the  Dutch  proverb,  "  Een  boer  is  een  beest"  was  only  too 
true  of  peasantries  everywhere,  there  were  men  and 
deeds  in  those  times  for  a  great  nation  to  be  proud  of. 
It  is  therefore  deplorable  that  the  majority  of  a  nation 
should  ever  forget  its  past,  or  that  it  should  have  such 
vague  ideas  about  its  past  as  those  of  the  uneducated 
classes.  A  French  peasant,  so  far  as  I  have  been  able  to 
make  out,  really  remembers  nothing  of  the  past  but  its 
evils,  the  grinding  oppression  of  the  corvee  and  the  horror 
of  \hzguerresde  religion.  "  Speak  to  a  peasant,"  says  M. 
Renan,  "or  to  a  Socialist  of  the  International,  of  France, 
of  her  past,  of  her  genius,  he  will  not  understand  such 
language.  Military  honour,  from  this  narrow  point  of 
view,  seems  folly  ;  the  taste  for  what  is  great,  the  glory 
of  the  mind,  are  chimeras ;  money  spent  for  art  and 
science  is  money  throw  away,  spent  foolishly."  There 
cannot  be  any  noble  national  feeling,  in  modern  times, 
amongst  the  totally  uneducated  peasantry  of  a  great 
State,  simply  because  they  have  never  heard  of  what  is 
truly  glorious  in  the  past,  andean  have  no  sense  of  those 
obligations  which  belong  to  the  successors  of  brave  and 
noble  persons.  Renan  affirms  that  "  The  noble  cares  of 
old  France,  patriotism,  enthusiasm  for  the  beautiful,  the 
love  of  fame,  have  disappeared  with  the  noble  classes 
which  represented  the  soul  of  France."  They  have  not 
wholly  disappeared,  they  exist  still  in  the  cultivated 
classes,  but  it  is  useless  to  seek  them  in  the  peasantry 


234  Rigour  of  Peasant  Ctistom. 

until  it  also  is  educated.  M.  Renan  thinks  that  the 
rural  democracy  is  Royalist  in  the  sense  that  it  will 
accept  a  dynasty  of  some  sort,  but  that  it  is  not  Royalist 
enough  to  care  which  dynasty  ;  that  it  will  make  no 
sacrifice  for  the  establishment  of  any  one  of  them,  and 
has  no  political  idealism  of  any  kind  whatever.  This 
total  absence  of  political  idealism  in  the  peasantry  is 
due  to  pure  ignorance,  but  it  has  been  a  happy  thing 
for  the  country  in  preventing  an  extensive  civil  war. 
France  is  a  mixture  of  a  little  gunpowder  with  a  great 
deal  of  sand — the  citizens  of  the  large  towns  are  the 
gunpowder,  the  peasantry  are  the  sand ;  if  all  were 
gunpowder  the  country  would  explode  all  over,  but  the 
sand  prevents  it. 

The  separation  of  the  peasantry  from  the  other  classes 
is  marked  by  the  most  striking  differences  of  custom. 
Here  let  me  observe  that  the  rigour  of  custom  is  far 
greater  amongst  the  peasants'  than  it  is  with  the  bour- 
geoisie and  noblesse.  Custom  regulates  everything  for  the 
peasant  with  an  iron  rule.  The  customs  are  frugal  in  the 
extreme,  and  act  as  an  effectual  sumptuary  law  in  re- 
straining any  possible  extravagance  of  the  richer  mem- 
bers of  the  class.  There  are  some  visible  signs  of  the 
weakening  of  rustic  custom,  but  up  to  the  present  day 
it  still  retains  an  enormous  power  in  rustic  public 
opinion.  Consider  the  difference,  for  example,  between 
the  degree  of  liberty  enjoyed  in  the  middle  classes  in 
matters  of  dress,  and  the  severity  of  custom  in  the 
peasantry.  The  bourgeois  may  wear  a  coat  of  any 
colour  he  chooses.  The  peasant  must  wear  a  blouse, 
and  the  blouse  must  be  blue.  Peasants  of  the  same 


Fixed  Usages.  235 

age  always  wear  the  same  kind  of  hat,  the  same  tex- 
ture of  linen,  and  when  they  buy  a  cloak — in  these  parts 
at  least — it  is  always  sure  to  be  of  a  brownish  grey,  with 
brown  stripes,  of  one  particular  pattern.  Custom,  in- 
deed, has  been  powerful  enough  to  put  all  the  class  into 
uniform.  In  the  furniture  of  their  houses  the  peasants 
are  equally  regulated  by  fixed  usages.  The  cabinet- 
maker's work  is  always  of  walnut,  and  nearly  of  the 
same  design.  The  bed,  the  linen-press  (armoire),  and 
the  clock  are  the  three  items  to  which  most  care  is 
given.  Sometimes  you  will  find  two  beds,  two  armoires, 
and  two  clocks  in  the  same  room,  one  set  belonging  to 
the  parents,  the  other  to  a  married  son.  The  women 
are  proud  of  their  armoires,  which  are  prettily  panelled, 
and  they  rub  the  panels  till  they  shine.  As  the  fur- 
niture and  manner  of  life  in  the  peasants'  houses 'is 
always  exactly  the  same  in  the  same  class,  and  as  the 
people  all  dress  exactly  alike,  and  all  know  the  same 
things,  and  are  equally  ignorant  of  everything  else,  the 
consequence  must  be,  and  is,  a  wonderful  narrowness  of 
experience  in  the  class,  and  a  corresponding  mental 
narrowness.  When  rich  Englishmen  visit  each  other's 
houses,  they  find  differences  which  stimulate  and  in- 
struct. There  are  differences  of  domestic  architecture. 
The  libraries  contain  different  books,  there  are  different 
artistic  and  other  collections  to  be  seen,  and  all  these 
things  enlarge  experience.  But  when  the  French 
peasant  goes  to  another  peasant's  house,  he  finds  ex- 
actly the  same  things  that  he  left  behind  him  at  home, 
and  nothing  to  enlarge  experience  in  any  way — no 
books,  no  newspapers,  no  varieties  of  education  in  the 


236  Rural  Virtues. 


inhabitants.  This  excessive  uniformity  in  everything 
is  one  of  the  main  reasons  why  the  peasant  remains  so 
decidedly  the  peasant,  and  why  those  members  of  the 
class  who  get  any  education  never  can  endure  to  remain 
within  it.  Lknow  a  good  many  sons  of  peasants  who 
have  left  the  class  to  enter  the  smaller  bourgeoisie  in 
some  occupation  outside  of  rustic  life,  because  the  true 
rustic  life  had  become  unendurable  to  them  from  its 
narrowness  and  the  rigidity  of  its  customs.  The  only 
way  for  the  educated  son  of  a  peasant  to  remain  rustic 
is  to  become  a  country  priest ;  then  he  can  live  in  re- 
lations with  the  peasantry  which  are  at  the  same  time 
familiar  enough  for  him  to  feel  no  painful  separation, 
and  yet  of  a  kind  which  keeps  him  distinct  and  inde- 
pendent, and  allows  him  to  read  and  think,  with  the 
infinite  advantage  of  solitude,  at  will.  The  excessive 
rigour  of  rural  custom  is  beneficial  in  a  very  simple- 
minded  and  ignorant  class,  which  thus  finds  its  path 
traced  beforehand  in  everything.  Simple  duties,  un- 
changing fashions,  a  settled  rule  of  life,  are  the  safety 
of  an  ignorant  population,  but  too  confining  for  an 
enlightened  one.  The  rural  French  customs  imply  the 
constant  practice  of  very  great  virtues — temperance, 
frugality,  industry,  patience,  self-control,  and  self- 
denial.  In  all  these  virtues,  the  peasant  acts  as  none 
but  a  saint  or  hero  could  act  if  he  were  alone,  but  he 
is  wonderfully  sustained  and  encouraged  by  the  custom 
of  his  class.  His  character  is  all  in  one  piece,  and 
ignorance  appears  to  be  an  essential  part  of  it.  No 
educated  person  would  have  patience  to  endure  his 
monotonous  toil,  or  the  simplicity  of  his  fare ;  and  the 


The  Rustic  Language.  237 

peasants  themselves  are  fully  aware  of  this,  for  they 
dread  books  and  education,  saying,  with  perfect  truth, 
that  they  unfit  men  for  steady  work  at  the  plough. 
Another  almost  inevitable  effect  of  education  is  *** 
make  people  appreciate  and  want  good  scientific 
cookery.  All  the  educated  classes  in  Fiance  like  good 
eating,  and  the  peasant,  from  his  frugal  point  of  view, 
thinks  that  they  live  most  extravagantly.  He  is  right 
in  dreading  the  effects  of  books  and  newspapers  on  his 
sons.  He  likes  to  keep  his  sons  illiterate,  for  he  knows, 
by  an  infallible  class-instinct,  that  the  old  rural  life, 
whose  virtues  he  appreciates  and  values,  will  be  a  thing 
of  the  past  when  Knowledge  enters  the  homestead, 
with  her  half-sisters,  Luxury  and  Discontent. 

The  books  too — the  clever  French  books,  all  written 
by  University  men — will  destroy  the  old  rustic  language, 
that  living  chain  of  custom  and  ancient  usage.  What 
do  the  clever  book-writing  men  know  of  the  old  tongue 
and  its  beloved  associations  with  fields,  and  streamsrand 
woods,  and  long-past  summers  and  loves,  and  winters 
and  sorrows  ?  The  rustic  language  varies  from  plain  to 
plain,  from  valley  to  valley ;  there  are  endless  varieties 
of  patois  in  France.  That  spoken  amongst  the  hills 
near  my  house  is  so  distinct  from  ordinary  French, 
that  it  took  me  a  long  time  to  understand  it ;  and  even 
now,  when  it  is  spoken  in  perfect  purity,  I  have  to 
listen  very  attentively.  Would  the  reader  like  to  see 
a  specimen  of  it  ?  Here  is  a  charming  little  song, 
which  we  know  positively  to  be  centuries  old.  Some 
rustic  composed  it  in  the  dark  days  of  the  corv&s,  and 
yet  it  is  full  of  gaiety,  and  has  the  touch  of  a  true  poet, 


238  Songs  in  Patois. 

The  conclusion  is  admirable  in  its  lively  truth  to 
nature.  The  lad  calls  his  sweetheart  and  his  cows  at 
the  same  time : — 

u  H6  mon  petiot  feillot 
Lere  et  lo.  lere  et  lere  et  lo^ 
Lere  et  lo,  ho  ! 
Ailon  voui  de*zeune" 
Lo,  lo,  lere  lo,  lere  et  lere, 
Aipourte  ton  pain  fro, 
Mai  mie,  lere  et  lere,  lolere  lere  et  lo  t 

"  Aipourte  ton  pain  fro, 
Du  coutie'  du  Lon-pre" 
Au  dec.6  de"  Pinti6 ; 
Au  dec.6  de"  Pinti6 
le  t"y  fere"  tate" 
Du  mitan  de  mon  gatiau, 

"  Du  mitan  de  mon  gatiau 
Que  te  trourez  secre" 
Ma  secre"  coum'  o  f6 

"  Ma  secre*  coum'  o  f&. 
Quan  t*  1'airez  aivol^ 
O  ne  te  fre"  point  de  mau, 

u  O  ne  te  f  re*  point  de  mau ; 
Ai  peu  te  beillerd 
Que"que  cou  de  bdquo. 

"  Que*que  cou  de  b6quo, 
De  be*quo  d'aimiti^ 
Que  ne  me  front  point  d'mattl 

*  H6  Piarotte,  ho  Piarotte 
Ven  don  viaz  yt'chi ! 
V6  1^  ote,  vo  16  ote, 

Yt'chi  !  ta  1 
Beurnotte, 
Fringotte, 
Me*trillere, 
Metrichaudc^ 


Songs  in  Patois.  239 

Corbinette, 
Jeannette, 
Brunette, 
J  olivette, 
Blondine, 

Yf  chi !  ti ! 
Ta  !  la !  ta  !  ta !  ta !» 

The  following  is  a  specimen  of  the  modern  patois, 
differing  very  little  from  that  of  two  hundred  years 
ago:— 

"  O  diont  tos  que  lai  milice 
Ye*  tire"  le  moud  preugaing, 
Qu'iot  por  c'lai  qu'o  faut  qui  m'mairisse 
Aitout  lai  feill'  de  nout'  voising. 
O  diont  tos  qu'al  ot  ben  zente, 
Qu'al  ot  done'  c'ment  in  aigniau 
lot  ben  c'lai  qu'iai  pou  qu'al  me  pliante 
Deux  plieumes  de  boeu  sos  mon  gaipiau  1 

*  De  tos  las  gas  de  nout*  velaize 
^aiquing  1'y  beille  in  present : 
L'in  1'y  beilP  de  lai  dentele 
L'aut'  1'y  beille  eune  croud  d'arzent 
Al  dit  ben  que  ran  n'lai  tente, 
Pas  moime  in  torse-musiau  ...... 

lot  ben  c'lai,  &c. 

"  Cartaing  borjois  de  lai  ville 
Haibilld  en  fign61eux, 
T6rne  alientor  de  c'te  feille 
Coume  en  mainicY  d'aimoreux  ; 
O  lai  loisse,  o  lai  tormente, 
O  lai  vir1  c'ment  in  fusiau  .... 
lot  ben  clai,  &c." 

I  have  not  space  for  all  the  song,  these  three  stanzas 
are  only  the  beginning  of  it,  but  there  is  perhaps  as 
much  as  the  reader  will  trouble  himself  to  translate. 
It  would  spoil  his  pleasure  to  translate  the  stanzas  for 
him,  and  I  avoid  the  task  the  more  willingly  that  it  is 


240  Songs  and  Music. 


by  no  means  an  easy  one.  Poetry  is  always  spoiled  in 
translation,  and  the  perfume  of  these  genuine  rustic 
stanzas  evaporates  altogether  when  we  attempt  to 
transfer  it  to  a  complex  and  elaborate  language  like 
English.  Fancy  translating  "cou  de  bequo,"  strokes 
with  a  beak.  In  the  original,  it  is  merely  a  peasant's 
playful  way  of  saying  kisses  ;  but  if,  on  the  other  hand, 
we  say  kisses  in  a  translation,  then  we  utterly  miss  the 
playfulness  of  the  original.  One  or  two  words  may  be 
explained  as  a  help.  0  is  a  general  pronoun,  lot 
means  it  is.  O  diont,  on  dit.  There  is  a  very  lively 
touch  in  the  last  line  but  one, 

"  O  lai  vir  c'ment  in  fusiau." 

"They  (I.e.,  the  bourgeois)  turn  her  about  like  a 
spindle,"  an  allusion  to  the  waltzing  in  the  village,  in 
which  the  bourgeois  easily  beats  the  rustic,  to  the  dis- 
gust of  the  latter,  especially  as  the  young  women  are 
at  no  pains  to  conceal  their  satisfaction  at  finding 
dancers  who  can  twist  them  round  with  the  proper 
degree  of  skill. 

I  have  heard  scores  of  such  songs  as  these  in  the 
farms  and  villages,  often  sung  with  the  greatest  skill 
and  taste.  Many  of  the  women  have  excellent  voices, 
and  manage  them  with  much  art,  which  has  become 
a  tradition.  The  music,  however,  is  monotonous,  or 
seems  so  to  us.  It  is  very  often  in  minor  keys.  I 
have  thought  sometimes  that  it  would  be  well  worth 
while  to  collect  the  airs  sung  by  the  peasantry  amongst 
the  hills,  for  they  are  full  of  originality,  although  per- 
vaded by  a  striking  similarity  of  sentiment,  or  senti- 


Rustic  Singing.  241 


ments,  for  there  are  two  classes  of  songs,  the  gay  and 
the  sad,  but  the  first  is  more  common.  Of  the  two 
specimens  just  given,  the  reader  is  especially  invited  to 
notice  the  ending  of  the  first,  which  is  most  brilliant. 
The  singer  calls  the  cows  with  a  musical  cry,  and  the 
end  is  a  burst  like  the  roulade  of  a  nightingale.  The 
peasants  sing  with  great  decision  and  confidence ;  the 
best  singers  soon  get  a  reputation  in  their  own  and  the 
neighbouring  villages,  which  encourages  them.  The 
constant  practise  of  simple  airs,  in  accordance  with 
fixed  traditional  rules,  permits  the  attainment  of  really 
considerable  skill,  in  its  own  peculiar  kind.  I  have 
heard  women  sing,  with  wonderful  rapidity,  long  pas- 
sages, in  which  the  slightest  hesitation  or  slip  of 
memory  would  have  been  fatal  to  the  effect,  but  they 
always  got  through  triumphantly,  with  a  shrill,  voluble, 
prestissimo  at  the  end,  terminating  in  a 
like  the  song  of  a  wild  bird. 


242 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Habits  of  the  Peasantry. — Their  Food  and  Drink. — Observance 
of  Lent. — Repugnances. — Times  of  Feasting. — Excesses  in 
Animal  Food  and  Wine. — Rustic  Medicine. — Anecdotes. — 
Unbelief  in  Physicians. — Faith  in  Magic  and  Special  Prayers. 
— Children  before  Baptism. — Usages  derived  from  Antiquity. 
— Bees. — Talking  Oxen. — Ocular  Illusions. — Sorcery. — The 
Rogations. — A  Rustic  Altar. — Influence  of  the  Church. — 
Religion  of  the  Male  Sex. — Faith  and  Scepticism. — A  Miracle. 
— Pilgrimages. — How  they  are  got  up. — A  Dialogue. — Patri- 
archal Discipline  in  Families. — Anecdotes. — Peasants'  Views 
of  Literature  and  Art. — A  very  exceptional  Peasant. — He 
reads  the  Author's  English  Books. — Sons  of  this  Peasant — 
Approaching  Extinction  of  the  old  Rustic  Character. — Ancient 
Habits  of  Self-denial. — Connection  between  Learning  and 
Self-indulgence. 

ALTHOUGH  the  whole  of  the  last  chapter  was  occupied 
with  the  peasantry,  the  subject  overflows  into  this.  It 
would  be  easy  to  write  a  volume  on  the  mind  and 
habits  of  a  class  which  has  such  decided  ways  of  its 
own,  and  so  many  interesting  peculiarities.  The  differ- 
ence between  the  peasantry  and  the  bourgeoisie  in  habits 
and  ideas  is  certainly  much  greater  than  the  difference 
between  two  nations.  We  are  accustomed,  for  example, 
to  think  of  the  French  as  a  cooking  nation,  but  the 
truth  is,  that  although  cookery  is  an  elaborate  well- 
understood  art  in  the  bourgeoisie,  the  peasantry  are 
utterly  ignorant  of  it.  It  is  wonderful  that,  with  so 


Rustic  Ignorance  of  Cookery.  243 

much  knowledge  about  food  and  the  preparation  of  it 
in  the  country  towns,  and  in  the  houses  of  the  squires, 
no  tincture  of  such  knowledge  should  have  spread  itself 
in  the  genuine  rustic  world,  but  the  plain  truth  is  that 
the  peasants'  wives  do  not  know  how  to  make  the  best 
of  the  materials  they  have,  so  that  the  rustic  world 
lives  much  less  comfortably  than  it  might  live.  We 
knew  one  farmer's  wife,  in  easy  circumstances,  who 
systematically  let  her  butter  go  rancid  before  using  it, 
"  because,"  she  said,  "  as  the  taste  is  stronger,  less  of  it 
is  required."  Sick  people  and  children  in  farm-houses 
are  much  to  be  pitied.  My  wife  once  actually  saw 
coffee  given  to  a  sick  man  with  salt  in  it  instead  of 
sugar,  because  salt  was  considered  cheaper,  and  babies 
at  the  breast  are  fed  with  a  sort  of  bouillie,  prepared  in 
an  old  cast-iron  pan,  that  has  been  used  for  frying 
bacon  from  time  immemorial. 

The  great  reason  why  cookery  has  never  penetrated 
into  the  rustic  world,  is  that  it  seems  extravagant,  and 
is,  no  doubt,  in  reality,  a  costly  luxury  when  carried  to 
a  needless  elaboration,  so  that  the  peasantry,  who  are 
frugal  above  all  things,  avoid  it  as  an  indulgence  which 
is  not  for  them.  Another  reason  is  the  indolence  of  the 
women  when  they  are  in  the  house.  A  peasant-woman 
will  work  very  vigorously  in  the  fields,  but  when  she  is 
at  home  she  takes  as  little  trouble  as  may  be,  and  likes 
to  pass  her  time  in  knitting,  which  is  really  a  sort  of 
concealed  indolence.  The  way  of  living  in  a  peasant's 
house  is  this.  In  the  morning  the  men  eat  soup — that 
soup  which  Cobden  praised  as  the  source  of  French 
prosperity.  It  is  cheap  enough  to  make.  For  twelve 


244  How  the  Peasants  Live. 

people  two  handfuls  of  dry  beans  or  peas,  or  a  few 
potatoes,  a  few  ounces  of  fried  bacon  to  give  a  taste, 
a  good  deal  of  hot  water.  The  twelve  basins  are  then 
filled  with  thin  slices  of  brown  bread,  and  the  hot 
water,  flavoured  with  the  above  ingredients,  is  pcured 
upon  the  bread.  The  bacon  and  peas  are  not  in  suffi- 
cient quantity  to  afford  much  nourishment,  but  they 
give  a  taste  to  the  bread  and  water,  and  a  hot  meal 
is  procured  in  this  way  at  a  cheap  rate.  Boiled  rice, 
with  a  little  milk,  is  sometimes  taken  instead  of  soup. 
If  the  soup  is  insufficient,  the  peasant  finishes  his  meal 
with  a  piece  of  dry  bread,  and  as  much  cold  water  as 
he  likes,  for  of  this  there  is  no  stint.  The  meal  at 
noon  is  composed  invariably  of  potatoes  followed  by  a 
second  dish.  In  this  second  dish  consists  the  only 
culinary  variety  of  the  peasant's  life.  It  is  either  a 
pancake,  made  with  a  great  deal  of  flour  and  water  and 
few  eggs,  or  a  salad,  or  clotted  milk.  No  wine  or  meat 
is  allowed,  except  during  the  great  labours  of  hay- 
making and  harvest.  At  these  times,  a  little  wine  is 
given  with  the  water  drunk  at  dinner,  and  a  little  piece 
of  salted  pork.  At  great  feasts  ham  is  served,  and 
beef  broth,  the  boiled  beef  served  afterwards  without 
sauce.  The  peasants'  wives  see  carefully  that  the  fasts 
of  the  Church  are  observed — all  economical  French 
people  are  religious  enough  in  this — and  I  remember  a 
good  instance  of  the  lengths  to  which  they  will  go. 
We  knew  an  old  peasant  who  was  not  in  very  strong 
health  (he  was  seventy-two  years  old),  and  his  con- 
science was  not  very  tender  about  the  ordinances  of  the 
Church  ;  I  mean,  that  if  anybody  had  given  him  the 


Fasting  in  Lent.  245 


opportunity  of  eating  meat  in  Lent  he  would  probably 
have  yielded  to  the  temptation.  But  he  had  a  wife  who 
united  orthodoxy  with  economy,  and  who  took  good 
care  that  her  husband  should  commit  no  sin  that  would 
be  in  any  way  expensive.  When  Lent  came  I  used  to 
banter  the  old  man,  in  a  gentle  way,  by  inquiring 
anxiously  about  his  health.  He  always  got  weaker  and 
weaker  towards  the  end  of  the  forty  days,  and  one  year 
this  weakness  was  so  distressing  to  him  that  he  com- 
mitted a  great  crime.  A  pig  was  killed  at  the  farm 
towards  the  end  of  Lent,  in  anticipation  of  Easter 
Sunday,  but  so  vigilant  was  the  eye  of  the  mistress  that 
nobody  dared  touch  a  morsel  of  the  forbidden  food. 
There  was  one  exception,  however.  The  old  man  sallied 
forth  with  a  knife,  cut  a  slice  of  the  pig,  fried  it  himself 
in  open  defiance  of  both  wife  and  Church,  and  ate  it 
boldly,  like  a  hardened  sinner,  in  sight  of  his  children  and 
servants.  Whilst  he  was  eating,  he  underwent  a  terrible 
female  sermon.  "  Not  only,"  said  his  wife,  "  are  you 
breaking  Lent  now,  but  you  have  broken  it  all  along,  for 
every  day  you  have  cooked  in  the  ashes  two  eggs  for 
your  dinner,  and  it's  astonishing  to  hear  you  complain 
of  weakness,  after  such  shameless  gormandizing  as 
that!" 

In  the  spring  the  peasants  bleed  their  oxen,  and  cook 
the  blood  in  a  frying-pan  with  onions.  They  like  it 
very  much,  and,  although  the  idea  seems  rather  disgust- 
ing, it  is  not  more  so  than  the  notion  of  eating  black- 
puddings — when  we  know  what  they  are  made  of. 

I  have  said  elsewhere  that  the  peasants  have  a  pro- 
found feeling  of  disgust  for  mutton.  Notwithstanding 


246  Rustic  Prejudices. 


the  abstemiousness  of  their  way  of  life — which  is  really 
little  better  than  one  continuous  fast — they  will  not 
touch  mutton  at  all.  Their  feeling  about  it  is  simply 
the  prejudice  against  a  particular  kind  of  flesh,  which 
most  people  have  in  one  form  or  another.  When  such 
a  prejudice  is  once  firmly  established,  the  imagination 
makes  it  wonderfully  strong — as,  for  example,  in  the 
prejudice  against  horseflesh,  which  is  even  less  reason- 
able, for  horseflesh  poisons  nobody,  whereas  mutton  is 
a  poison  for  some  constitutions.  Other  peculiarities  of 
the  peasantry  are  that  they  never  season  vegetables, 
and  their  soup  is  so  poor  that  at  the  end  of  a  meal 
what  remains  of  it  is  thrown  into  the  pigs'  tub,  so  that 
they  never  eat  a  re"chaufft  of  any  kind,  hence  they  have 
an  intense  prejudice  against  re'chauffe's.  A  peasant-girl, 
when  she  goes  as  servant  into  a  bourgeois  family,  will 
not  touch  any  rechauffe,  even  when  she  has  seen  it 
served  at  her  master's  table,  and  if  there  is  nothing 
else  to  dinner  she  will  eat  dry  bread.  By  this  pre- 
judice, the  peasantry  miss  one  of  the  most  intelligent 
economies  of  the  middle  class,  for  it  is  the  simple  fact 
that  a  good  many  French  dishes  are  positively  better 
when  warmed  a  second  time  than  they  were  when  first 
cooked.  This  is  an  instance  the  more  of  the  familiar 
truth,  that  human  nature,  even  when  most  frugal  and 
most  humble,  always  associates  something  with  the 
idea  of  self-respect,  and  clings  to  it  to  the  last.  The 
peasant's  theory  is  that  yesterday's  dishes  are  for  the 
pigs,  and  not  for  Christians. 

The    women    of    the    peasant-class    submit    to    the 
severity   of    their    frugal   customs   without    any   other 


Occasional  Excesses.  247 

relief  from  them  than  the  occasional  feasts  at  weddings, 
but  the  men  escape  from  the  rule  of  custom  more  fre- 
quently, when  they  go  to  the  market-town,  and  get  a 
liberal  eUjfeAner  at  the  inn,  which  they  seem  to  appie- 
ciate  very  heartily.  On  these  occasions  they  get  tipsy, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  and  when  there  is  a  great  fair  they 
often  get  more  than  tipsy,  in  consequence  of  successive 
bottles  of  wine  and  beer  in  the  caffc,  where  they  treat 
each  other  liberally,  according  to  a  theory  that  it  is  not 
polite  to  refuse,  nor  to  accept  hospitable  offers  without 
returning  them.  This  of  course  makes  the  drinking  on 
such  occasions  practically  unlimited.  So  Bacchus  has 
his  revenge  for  the  general  abstemiousness  of  rural  life, 
which  is  almost  teetotal  in  the  rustic  homes,  with 
bacchanalian  intervals  in  the  market-towns.  I  well 
remember  hearing  a  farmer's  wife  declare  that  hei 
husband  (a  most  respectable  old  man,  who  got  tipsy 
one  day  in  thirty,  and  drank  water  on  the  remaining 
twenty-nine)  adored  Bacchus  more  than  Venus,  the 
Venus  being  herself,  and  a  very  plain  homely  Venus 
she  was.*  It  would  be  better  for  a  rustic  to  allow 
himself  a  little  wine  every  day  than  to  drink  to  excess 
occasionally,  but  his  life  would  lack  the  great  pleasure 
of  occasional  excesses,  which  seems  to  be  necessary  to 
human  nature  in  a  certain  stage  of  civilization.  The 
peasant  observes  at  present  the  same  abstinence  and  the 
same  excesses  in  eating.  Most  of  his  time  he  lives  as  the 
reader  has  just  seen,  but  at  wedding-feasts  he  consumes 

*  Nothing  ever  surprised  me  more  than  this  reference  to 
antique  mythology ;  how  the  good  woman  came  by  her  knowledge 
of  gods  and  goddesses  I  cannot  imagine. 


248  Excesses  in  Animal  Food. 

literally  ten  times  as  much  animal  food  as  an  English 
gentleman  will  eat  at  his  dinner.  I  once  asked  a  young 
farmer  how  many  meals  he  had  eaten  successively  in 
celebration  of  his  brother's  wedding.  He  confessed  to 
fifteen  repasts,  entirely  consisting  of  different  kinds  of 
meat.  It  is  not  at  all  an  exaggeration  to  suppose  that 
he  would  eat  of  five  different  dishes  at  each  repast — 
5x15  =  75 — so  that  my  friend  ate  seventy-five  plates 
of  meat  to  celebrate  the  happy  occasion.  At  these 
festivals  there  is  not  a  vegetable  to  be  seen,  nor  any- 
thing in  the  shape  of  sweets  or  pastry — the  feast  is 
purely  carnivorous,  an  excessive  reaction  from  the  daily 
habits  of  the  peasantry.  These  excesses  never  seem  to 
do  anybody  any  harm,  and  the  strict  rule  of  daily  life 
is  accepted  again  quite  readily  afterwards,  when  all 
return  to  frugality  and  duty.  I  never  really  understood 
the  spirit  of  feasting  which  Rabelais  and  others  have 
described  as  a  part  of  the  temper  of  the  middle  ages, 
until  I  saw  how  the  French  peasants  enjoy  what 
Rabelais  called  noces  et  festins.  A  higher  civilization 
dines  comfortably  and  sufficiently  every  day,  and  loses 
the  delight  of  occasionally  indulging  to  the  utmost  a 
rarely  satisfied  appetite.  So  our  daily  life  becomes 
more  mildly  agreeable,  but  we  lose  the  animating 
enjoyment  of  the  feast.  Indeed,  we  do  not  know  what 
it  is  to  feast.  The  spirit  of  it  is  not  in  us  any  more. 
We  have  found  out  that  the  sensations  of  having  eaten 
and  drunk  too  much  are  not  the  supreme  happiness. 

The  peasant  believes  wine  to  be  the  universal  remedy. 
He  administers  it  liberally  in  all  cases  of  disease,  even 
in  the  most  violent  fevers — with  what  effect  may  be 


Rustic  Doctoring.  249 


imagined.     His  way  of  treating  a  bad  cold  is  to  put 
a  tallow  candle  in  a  quart  of  red  wine,  and  boil  till 
the  tallow  melts,  after  which  tallow  and  wine  are  stirred 
up  together   and   swallowed   by  the  unhappy  patient. 
For  intermittent  fever  he  beats  up  eggs  with  soot  from 
the  chimney.     To  cure  the  measles  he  gives  hot  wine 
with  pepper  and  honey.     Whenever  any  one  is  ill,  no 
matter  from  what  cause,  hot  wine  is  at  once  adminis- 
tered.    A  married  woman,  who  had  been  a  servant  of 
ours,  was  so  ill  after  childbirth,  that  she  thought  she 
was  going  to  die,  and  so  thought  all  her  friends.     They 
sent  for  the  curt,  who  duly  arrived  and  administered 
extreme  unction.     Being  now,  as  she  believed,  at  the 
point  of  death,  and  about  to  enter  the  realm  of  pur- 
gatory,  the   patient  expressed  a  strong  desire  to  see 
my  wife,  in  order  to  entreat  her  pardon  for  all  offences 
committed  during  her  service  with  us.      Few  indeed, 
and  of  little  gravity,  had  those   offences    been !     On 
arriving  at  the  cottage,  my  wife,  who  knows  the  ways 
of  the  peasants,  and  has  just  the  degree  of  confidence 
in   them  which   they  deserve,  strongly  suspected  that 
the  patient  was  being  quietly  killed  by  the  absurd  old 
rural  practices  ;  so  she  made  minute  inquiries,  and  soon 
discovered  what  follows:    I.  The  woman  was   entirely 
in  the  hands  of  her  relations,  no  doctor  having  been 
sent  for.     2.  The  said  relations  had  forbidden  her  to 
give   milk  to  her  child,  "  for  fear   of   fatiguing    her." 
3.  They  had  filled  her  with  wine.     4.  They  had  piled 
huge  feather  cushions  on  her,  and  quilts,  till  she  was 
nearly  smothered.      The   breasts  were  distended  with 
milk,  and  very  painful,  whilst  the  other  arrangements 


250  1'reatment  of  the  Sick. 

had  greatly  augmented  the  fever.  My  wife's  great 
difficulty,  in  all  such  cases,  is  to  prevent  the  people 
from  giving  wine,  but  she  has  found  out  an  ingenious 
device  which  succeeds  sometimes,  and  quite  succeeded 
in  this  instance.  She  takes  two  or  three  bottles  of 
good  wine  to  the  house  of  the  sick  person,  and  says 
they  are  to  be  administered  during  convalescence,  but 
not  before,  and  that  no  other  wine  is  to  be  given  at  all. 
This  shows  an  apparent  deference  to  the  popular  belief 
in  wine  which  conciliates  public  opinion,  and  it  proves, 
at  least,  that  the  giver,  in  forbidding  the  use  of  wine 
for  the  present,  does  not  forbid  it  from  an  apprehension 
that  she  may  be  asked  to  supply  it  out  of  her  own 
cellar.  In  the  instance  just  mentioned,  a  little  common 
sense,  with  words  of  firm  kindness  and  encouragement, 
saved  the  patient.  It  is  a  peculiarity  of  the  peasants 
that  they  do  not  believe  in  medical  science  at  all,  and 
never  send  for  a  doctor  till  it  is  too  late,  if,  indeed,  they 
send  for  him  even  then.  They  generally  pin  their  faith 
on  some  old  woman  who  knows  the  old  wives'  remedies. 
My  wife  (though  not  an  old  woman)  has  really,  by  very 
simple  means,  saved  several  lives,  which,  in  the  ordi- 
nary course  of  rustic  custom,  must  inevitably  have  been 
sacrificed,  and  this  has  given  her  a  great  reputation  as 
a  doctor,  which  she  makes  the  most  of  to  fight  against 
the  absurd  old  peasant  traditions.  But  it  is  a  hard 
fight,  even  for  one  who  has  visible  success  on  her  side. 
I  remember  the  case  of  one  old  woman,  who  lived  at 
a  distance  amongst  the  hills,  and  was  visibly  dying  of 
exhaustion.  A  country  doctor  visited  her  occasionally, 
but  gave  her  up.  Having  seen  her,  my  wife  said,  "  The 


Strange  Use  of  Medicine.  251 

woman  is  really  dying  for  want  of  proper  food,  because 
nobody  in  the  house  knows  how  to  prepare  food  for 
a  weak  person ;  but  I  could  save  her  life  if  I  had  her 
in  our  own  house."  I  said  she  had  better  try  the 
experiment,  so  the  woman  was  brought  to  our  house. 
We  had  a  daughter  of  hers  as  a  servant  at  that  time, 
so  the  patient  was  carefully  attended  to,  but  very 
strictly  looked  after.  In  a  few  weeks  she  was  in  very 
fair  health,  and  able  to  walk  fifteen  miles.  She  is 
living  yet,  and  quite  active,  but  it  is  certain  (so  the 
doctor  says)  that  she  must  have  died  if  left  to  the 
care  of  peasants.  From  what  we  have  seen,  we  are 
quite  sure  that  a  large  mortality,  amongst  sick  or 
weakly  people,  is  caused  by  sheer  ignorance  in  the 
peasant  class — by  ignorance,  not  by  poverty,  for  they 
could  easily  afford  what  is  really  necessary.  There  is 
never  any  telling  what  their  inconceivable  ignorance 
will  make  them  do.  I  know  an  instance  of  a  woman 
who  was  affected  with  partial  paralysis.  Her  friends 
got  medicine  from  the  chemist,  and  the  medicine  was 
of  two  kinds,  one  to  be  taken  internally,  the  other  for 
external  friction,  so  they  rubbed  her  with  the  potion 
and  made  her  swallow  the  liniment,  to  her  great  internal 
inconvenience.  Mustard  plasters  are  now  sold  ready 
prepared,  so  a  man  in  our  neighbourhood  bought  a 
box  of  them  for  his  wife,  who  was  ill,  and  tried  to 
make  her  swallow  them.  It  was  almost  impossible  to 
convince  him  that  they  were  to  be  applied  externally. 
"  Do  you  think  I  don't  know  the  use  of  mustard  ? "  he 
said  ;  "  I  know  well  enough  that  it  is  made  to  be  eaten, 
so  my  wife  must  swallow  these  plasters."  A  man  was 


252  Physicians  and  Rustics. 

suffering  from   an   ailment   which    required   treatment 
with  linseed  poultices,  but  he  said  that  he  thought  they 
did  him  very  little  good.      On  inquiry,  it  turned  out 
that  his  daughter,  who  had  the  care  of  him,  had  boiled 
all  the  linseed  together  in,  the  pigs'  pan,  after  which  she 
took  it  in  cold  lumps,  like  broken  stones,  and  so  applied 
it  to  the  patient.     We  knew  another  who,  when  she  had 
the   stomach-ache,  swallowed   certain    remedies  which 
had  been  given  to  her  mother  for  varicose  veins,  "  so 
that  they  might  not  be  lost."     The  doctor  is  only  sent 
for,  by  a  peasant,  at  the  very  last  extremity,  and  his 
prescriptions  are  never  followed.     I  have  often  talked 
about  this  peculiarity  with  physicians  whom  I  knew 
intimately,  and  they  invariably  said  that  it  was  not  of 
the  slightest  u«e  for  them  to  give  any  advice  to  pea- 
sants.     The  consequence  is  that   physicians   take   no 
interest  in  rustic  patients,  and  leave  them  to  their  own 
prejudices,  and  whatever  fate  may  be  in  store  for  them. 
The  physician's  fees,  although  extremely  moderate,  and 
remote  indeed  from  the  London  guinea,  seem  to  the 
rural  mind  an  expense  to  be  regretted  in  any  event, 
for  if  the  patient  is  cured,  his  friends  believe  that  he 
would  have  come  round  without  the  doctor,  and  if  he  dies, 
it  is  plain  that  the  doctor  has  not  been  able  to  save  him. 
Our  own  medical  adviser  has  a  thousand  anecdotes  of 
the  rustic  ways,  with  reference  to  the  science  of  medi- 
cine, which  exhibit  the  peasant's  way  of  thinking.     One 
of   these  I  select  for  the  reader.      A  woman  went  to 
him  for  a  prescription  for  her  husband,  but  as  she  was 
going  away,  she   turned  on  the  threshold,  and  asked 
whether  her  husband  could  pull  through.    "  Because,'1 


Magic  and  Religion.  253 


she  added,  "  if  he  is  to  die  after  all,  it  will  be  of  no 
use  to  spend  five  francs  in  medicine."  She  positively 
refused  to  get  the  prescription  made  up  unless  the 
doctor  would  guarantee  her  husband's  life. 

What  fhe  peasants  really  do  believe  in  is  not  science 
of  any  kind,  but  magic  and  superstitious  prayers.  Their 
idea  of  prayer  and  of  all  religion  is,  in  fact,  very  closely 
connected  with  magic.  They  have  full  faith  in  sorcery 
and  in  the  power  of  combating  evil  by  special  prayers 
— special  forms  of  words  which  make  you  safe  if  you 
know  them  accurately,  when,  without  the  knowledge  of 
the  form,  you  are  helpless  against  the  evil.  This  is  so, 
very  particularly  with  regard  to  burns  and  dislocated 
limbs.  It  is  believed,  for  instance, -that  such  an  old 
woman  knows  a  special  prayer  which  will  cure  a  burn, 
or  make  a  set  limb  go  on  favourably,  and  when  such  a 
belief  becomes  current,  the  person  who  knows  the  prayer 
is  in  great  request,  but  keeps  the  prayer  itself  a  secret. 
The  idea  is,  that  there  are  prayers  for  every  kind  of  evil, 
which  would  be  perfectly  efficacious  if  one  only  knew 
them.  It  is  plain  that  the  notion  is  more  nearly  allied 
to  magic  than  to  Christianity.  Even  in  very  grave  cases, 
when  a  surgeon  is  absolutely  required,  the  peasants  will 
not  send  for  him  if  they  can  avoid  it,  but  they  will  travel 
many  miles  to  fetch  some  ignorant  old  woman  "  qtdsait 
line  prtire"  The  simple  truth  is,  that  their  minds  are  in 
a  condition  so  wholly  unscientific,  that  they  cannot  con- 
ceive the  idea  of  science.  It  is  useless  to  tell  them  that 
a  physician  has  studied  medicine  and  an  old  woman  has 
not,  for  they  do  not  know,  and  cannot  imagine,  what  it- 
is  to  study  anything,  nor  are  they  at  all  able  to  perceive 


254  Children  before  Baptism. 

the  distinction  between  positive  knowledge  and  super- 
stition. 

When  a  child  is  born  it  is  not  considered  right  to 
ask  what  is  its  sex,  and  if  any  one  belonging  to  another 
class  asks  the  question  in  ignorance  or  forgetfulness,  he 
tvill  not  receive  much  of  an  answer,  for  the  question  is 
considered  at  the  same  time  a  violation  of  good  man- 
ners and  contrary  to  religion.  It  is  a  violation  of  good 
manners  because,  so  long  as  it  is  unbaptized,  the  child 
is  considered  to  be  only  an  animal,  and  therefore,  no 
credit  to  its  father  and  mother  ;  and  it  is  contrary  to 
religion  because,  until  the  child  has  received  the  Divine 
grace  through  baptism,  it  does  not  truly  live.  The 
genuine  peasant  maintains  a  strict  reserve  in  speaking  of 
an  unbaptized  child — exactly  the  same  reserve  which  an 
English  gentleman  would  maintain  to  discourage  ques- 
tioners if  his  wife  had  been  delivered  of  a  monster. 

The  old  classical  habit  of  putting  a  coin  into  the  hand 
of  the  dead  to  pay  Charon  with,  still  survives  amongst 
the  French  peasantry.  They  have  forgotten  Charon, 
and  cannot  tell  you  why  they  put  the  coin  into  the  dead 
hand,  but  they  would  not  omit  the  ceremony.  A  much 
more  touching  practice  is  that  of  putting  flowers  into 
the  coffin  of  a  child.  They  tell  you  their  reason  for 
this,  which  is,  that  the  child  must  have  them  to  play 
with.  This,  too,  is  a  classical  idea — the  old  idea  that 
life  of  some  kind  continued  dimly  in  the  tomb  itself. 

The  women  go  on  the  day  of  the  Purification  to  read 
the  Gospel  to  the  bees,  with  a  lighted  taper  in  their 
hands.  I  have  seen  this  done,  and  done  in  serious 
earnest,  with  a  perfect  faith  that  the  bees  could  derive 


Magical  Powders.  255 


spiritual  advantage  from  the  reading,  and  were,  at  least 
so  far,  Christians.  I  need  scarcely  add,  that  there  is  the 
usual  superstition  against  the  sale  of  bees.  They  may 
be  given  or  exchanged,  but  if  bought  and  sold  they  will 
never  prosper. 

On  Shrove  Tuesday,  the  peasants  have  a  ludicrous 
custom  of  jumping  as  high  as  they  can.  They  believe 
that  this  makes  their  hemp  grow.  They  listen  to  the 
cry  of  the  quail  with  great  interest,  because  they  believe 
that  he  announces  the  price  of  wheat — but  somehow 
there  is  always  a  difficulty  in  making  out  the  figure 
which  he  announces.  They  are  also  convinced  that  the 
cattle  talk  together  on  Christmas  night,  at  the  time  of 
the  midnight  mass  ;  but  curiosity  as  to  what  the  cattle 
may  say  is  repressed  as  dangerous,  there  being  a  legend 
that  the  farmer  who  hid  himself  in  the  cow-house  to 
listen  heard  the  prediction  of  his  own  speedy  demise, 
which  took  place  accordingly  in  a  few  days.  Thousands 
of  peasants  believe  this  just  as  firmly  as  they  believe 
things  in  the  ordinary  course  of  nature. 

The  peasant  mind  is  in  such  an  uncritical  condition 
that  it  is  subject  to  ocular  illusions,  even  in  perfectly 
healthy  persons.  I  remember  a  young  farmer  who  told . 
people  that  one  day  I  was  walking  with  his  father,  and 
made  myself  appear  to  him  twice  as  tall  as  his  father, 
by  throwing  some  magic  powder  in  his  eyes.  The  old 
man  and  I  were  about  the  same  height  (5  ft.  10  in.), 
so  that  I  must  have  appeared  a  giant  of  1 1  ft.  8  in. 
The  origin  of  the  illusion,  in  this  case,  was  the  belief 
that  I  had  magic  powders,  which  would  cause  a  pre- 
disposition to  see  something  wonderful.  Many  people 


256  Faith  in  Sorcery. 


are  believed  to  have  magic  powders,  but  in  my  case 
this  is  fully  accounted  for  by  a  chemical  laboratory  in 
which  I  am  in  the  habit  of  pursuing  investigations  in 
the  chemistry  of  etching  and  painting. 

In  our  part  of  France  the  peasants  have  the  fullest 
belief  in  sorcery.  They  live  in  perpetual  apprehension 
that  some  sorcerer  may  cast  a  spell  upon  their  cattle, 
and  they  can  tell  you  numberless  stories  of  the  known 
effects  of  such  spells.  They  believe,  too,  that  the 
secrets  of  sorcery  are  contained  in  a  mysterious  volume 
called  an  "  Albert,"  and  they  are  convinced  that  certain 
persons  possess  the  book,  though  I  never  could  see  a 
copy  of  it,  nor  ascertain  if  it  really  existed.  One  of 
my  friends,  a  village  notary,  is  universally  believed  to 
have  magical  power  and  to  possess  an  "  Albert,"  and 
people  actually  come  to  him  to  beg  him  to  exercise 
his  power.  On  one  occasion,  being  pestered  by  a 
peasant  who  would  not  take  a  refusal,  the  notary  really 
did  go  through  some  ceremony  in  imitation  of  the 
black  art. 

The  priests  do  nothing  to  discourage  popular  super- 
stition ;  indeed,  it  may  be  suspected  that  they  prefer  a 
superstitious  state  of  mind  to  a  more  enlightened  one. 
They  bless  sprigs  of  boxwood,  which  are  a  protection 
against  evil  influences.  They  do  not  deny  the  exist- 
ence of  the  powers  of  darkness,  but  combat  them  by 
religious  ceremonies.  One  of  the  most  striking  of 
these  ceremonies  is  the  blessing  of  the  fields,  which 
takes  place  three  days  before  the  feast  of  the  Ascension. 
In  the  beautiful  May  time,  the  time  of  blossoming 
trees,  rustic  altars  are  erected  by  the  villagers,  and  the 


The  Rogations.  257 

priest  leaves  the  church  to  go  in  procession  from  one  to 
another,  bearing  the  Holy  Sacrament.  The  arrange- 
ments about  the  altars  are  left  entirely  to  the  peasants 
themselves,  who  erect  them  without  any  ecclesiastical 
or  artistic  direction,  and  the  priest  always  accepts  them 
just  as  they  are  with  all  their  ndivett.  This  ceremony 
of  the  Rogations  has  always  seemed  to  me  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  of  all  Roman  Catholic  ceremonies,  and 
it  is  at  the  same  time  a  striking  instance  of  the  skill 
with  which  the  Roman  Church  adapts  herself  to  all 
situations  and  circumstances,  and  of  her  readiness  to 
take  trouble  that  she  may  win  sympathy  and  awaken 
interest 

The  best  way  to  give  a  good  idea  of  the  Rogations 
will  be  to  describe  some  particular  instance  of  them 
from  memory.  Let  me  take  the  reader  with  me,  as  it 
were,  to  a  certain  hamlet  that  I  know  well,  a  place 
which  no  landscape-painter  would  despise.  Quaint  old 
thatched  cottages  surround  a  broad  green,  at  least  for 
three  of  its  four  sides,  but  the  fourth  is  bounded  by  a 
clear  and  beautiful  trout-stream,  which  teems  with  fish, 
and  is  never  dry,  even  in  the  height  of  summer,  for  we 
are  close  to  its  perennial  fountains  in  the  forest-covered 
hills.  Round  the  hamlet  are  green  rich  meadows  with 
fine  trees  here  and  there,  and  beyond  the  meadows  the 
land  suddenly  rises  in  steep  wooded  hills,  about  a 
thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  green,  at  least  to 
the  north  and  west,  but  to  the  south  the  stream  flows 
towards  pale  blue  mountainous  distances.  It  is  a 
peaceful  place,  sheltered  by  hills,  but  not  overwhelmed 
by  them,  nor  yet  too  absolutely  confined.  Here  in  the 

S 


258  A  Rustic  Altar. 


heat  of  summer  one  may  find  coolness  and  welcome 
shade ;  here  the  birds  sing  and  the  wild  flowers  grow 
in  abundance.  It  seems  as  if  one  could  live  in  such  a 
sweet  place  for  ever,  and  dream  and  paint  in  the  fair 
meadows,  and  swim  daily  in  the  long  deep  cool  pools 
of  the  stream  which  lie  dark  under  vaulted  roofs  of 
half-transparent  leaves. 

In  the  very  middle  of  the  green,  the  people  of  the 
hamlet  had  erected  their  rustic  altar.  The  altar  itself 
would  have  been  more  satisfactory  to  Protestant  senti- 
ment than  the  massive  stone  ones  in  the  churches,  for 
it  consisted  simply  of  a  poor  table  from  one  of  the 
cottages,  but  it  was  carefully  hidden  with  a  white  sheet, 
and  a  box  was  put  upon  it  to  imitate  the  ratable  or 
upper  altar,  also  carefully  hidden  in  white.  On  the 
white  linen  was  pinned  a  decoration  of  natural  leaves 
and  flowers  in  a  sort  of  rude  design,  like  simple  em- 
broidery. The  altar  was  abundantly  supplied  with 
candles,  and  vases  with  flowers  in  them.  All  the 
candlesticks  had  been  lent  by  the  cottagers  them- 
selves, so  they  were  not  splendid.  The  vases  were  the 
chimney  ornaments  from  the  cottages,  of  the  kind 
which  country  people  buy  at  fairs  to  gratify  a  love  of 
art  in  its  most  elementary  form,  all  painted  in  gaudy 
colours.  Every  house,  however  humble,  has  what  is 
called  its  "  chapel,"  that  is  to  say,  a  miniature  altar  with 
a  plaster  cast,  usually  of  the  Virgin  and  Child,  a  couple 
of  candlesticks,  two  or  three  pots  of  flowers,  and  some 
coloured  religious  prints  on  the  wall,  besides  illumi- 
nated cards,  surrounded  with  frames  of  embossed  paper, 
which  imitates  lace.  All  these  things  are  a  common 


A  Rustic  Altar.  259 


magazine  of  objets  de  /*'///,  for  an  occasion  of  the 
kind  I  am  now  describing,  and  the  young  women,  who 
are  the  real  managers  of  all  the  preparations,  select 
the  prints,  &c.,  which  please  them  best.  Behind  the 
altar,  and  on  each  side  of  it,  was  a  great  structure  of 
green  branches,  imitating  the  apse  of  a  church,  and 
towards  the  bottom  it  was  hung  inside  with  white 
sheets,  on  which  were  garlands  of  yellow  flowers,  and 
a  quantity  of  framed  prints  representing  scenes  from 
the  New  Testament.  The  preparations  were  nearly 
finished  when  I  arrived  upon  the  scene,  and  as  every- 
body in  the  hamlet  knew  me,  the  girls  who  had  built 
the  altar  were  very  anxious  that  I  should  suggest  any 
possible  improvement  on  their  design.  I  really  had 
very  little  to  suggest,  for.  the  whole  was  a  piece  of 
genuine  rustic  art,  quite  a  pure  and  perfect  expression 
of  rustic  taste,  with  materials  that  were  ready  to  hand. 
It  may  be  doubted  whether  a  town  architect  would 
have  been  ingenious  enough  to  use  the  materials  with 
such  good  effect.  Most  likely  he  would  have  despised 
them  too  much.  I  well  remember  one  detail.  Amongst 
the  ornaments  were  two  sardine  boxes  lacquered  in 
imitation  of  gilding.  They  were  rather  large  and 
handsome  boxes  of  their  kind,  and  the  girls  had  filled 
them  with  earth,  in  which  they  had  stuck  long  branches 
of  the  bird-cherry-tree  in  full  flower,  which  met  over 
the  altar  very  prettily.  I  rather  wondered  how  the 
cottagers  had  come  into  possession  of  these  boxes,  for 
they  never  eat  preserved  sardines,  but  I  was  informed 
that  they  came  from  my  own  house,  where  a  girl  in 
the  hamlet  worked  two  days  a  week.  She  had 

S   2 


A  Religious  Ceremony. 


perceived   the   availableness  of  the  boxes,  and  begged 
them.     The  truth  is  that  they  did  capitally  at  a  little 
distance,   when  the  sun  made   the  lacquer  shine    like 
gold,  and  one  could  not  read  the  tradesman's  adver- 
tisement.    Not  only  the  flowers  of  the  bird  -cherry-tree, 
but   all    the   wild  flowers  that  bloomed   in   the   little 
valley,  were   pressed    into   requisition.      The  girls  had 
an    evident   preference  for   yellow  ones,  because  they 
imitated  gold,  and  there  were  plenty  of  buttercups  and 
marsh   marigolds   to   satisfy   this   desire.      White   was 
supplied    by   hawthorn    and   cherry-blossom  ;    red,   in 
abundance,  by  the  common  lychnis  and  red  lamium. 
There  were    plenty   of    wild   pansies,   too,    and   other 
flowers   too  long  to  enumerate.      The  last  touch  was 
put  to   the  work  only  just  in  time,  when  the  banners 
of  the  advancing  procession  flashed  in  the  sunshine  on 
the  other  side  of  the  stream,  and  it  soon  passed  over 
the  bridge.     The  old  priest  of  the  nearest  village  came 
bearing  the  Host,  and  in  the  procession  were  the  prin- 
cipal rural  dignitaries,  and  the  children  of  the  village 
school.     There  were  also  two  sisters  of  charity,  and  a 
full-bearded  missionary  priest.     The  curt  went  through 
the  service  of  the  benediction  with  simple  dignity,  and 
all  the  little  congregation  knelt  upon  the  grass.     When 
the  service  at  this  altar  was  over,  the  procession  formed 
again,  and    its  banners    gradually  disappeared  in  the 
winding  of  the  little  path  between  the  meadows  and 
the  river. 

Here  you  have  the  genuine  rustic  religion  of  the 
peasantry.  They  like  to  see  the  priest  come  amongst 
them,  and  carry  the  Holy  Sacrament  through  the  fields 


Faith  and  Scepticism.  261 

that  they  may  be  blessed,  and  yield  an  abundant  harvest 
The  poetic  sense  which  exists  in  their  uncultured  minds 
has  its  exercise  on  these  occasions  in  the  building  of  the 
rustic  altar  with  its  green  bower  for  an  apse,  and  its 
vases,  and  candles,  and  flowers.  All  is  so  closely  con- 
nected with  the  beauty  of  the  beautiful  season  that  even 
the  rude  mind  feels  the  harmony  between  the  ceremony 
and  the  time.  The  year  has  given  its  first  promise  in 
the  flowers,  the  gentle  air  breathes  warm,  summer  is 
coming  fast,  and  after  it  the  peasant  looks  to  the  wealth 
of  autumn.  The  sentiment  of  the  season,  and  its  hope 
for  the  future,  are  perfectly  expressed  in  the  Complaint 
of  the  Black  Knight,  by  Chaucer  : — 

The  aire  attempre,  and  the  smooth  wind 
Of  Zephyrus  among  the  blosomes  white 
So  holsome  was,  and  so  nourishing  by  kind, 
That  smale  buddes,  and  round  blosomes  lite, 
In  manner  gan  of  hir  brethe  delite, 
To  yeve  us  hope  there  fruit  shall  take 
Agenst  autumne  redy  for  to  shake. 

As  a  special  protection  the  peasants  have  hazel  boughs 
blessed  by  the  priest  on  this  occasion,  and  set  them  in 
their  fields  as  a  defence  against  hail,  which  they  are 
believed  to  avert. 

It  is  not  by  any  means  easy  to  ascertain  the  exact 
degree  of  influence  which  the  Church  of  Rome  possesses 
over  the  peasant  mind,  because  the  people  of  that  class 
are  cautious  and  reticent  in  the  expression  of  their 
opinions  ;  but  a  close  observer  may  easily  perceive  that 
a  strong  sceptical  spirit  has  invaded  the  rural  districts 
during  the  last  few  years.  At  the  ceremony  of  the  Roga- 
tions, which  I  have  just  described,  the  only  men  present 


262  Men  and  their  Religion. 


who  belonged  to  the  hamlet  were  half  a  dozen  who  hap- 
pened to  be  preparing  materials  for  a  new  bridge.  They 
were  shaping  the  beams  upon  the  green,  close  to  the 
altar,  and  they  went  on  with  their  work,  giving  loud 
strokes  with  the  axe,  till  the  procession  was  almost  upon 
them.  The  women  protested  against  this  as  unbecoming, 
and  did  at  last  obtain  a  sort  of  surly  acquiescence ;  but 
the  men  remained  with  their  wooden  beams  behind  the 
altar,  and  did  not  join  the  little  congregation.  I  made 
inquiry  about  other  inhabitants  of  the  hamlet,  and  dis- 
covered that  they  were  all  at  their  work  in  the  fields  and 
woods,  not  having  thought  it  worth  while  to  quit  their 
labour  for  an  hour,  even  for  the  most  important  rural 
ceremony  of  the  year.  The  women  and  children  were 
there,  taking  a  feminine  and  childish  pleasure  in  their 
own  little  arrangements  of  pots  and  candles  and  May 
flowers ;  but  the  men  in  the  fields  and  woods  can 
scarcely  have  believed  that  the  ceremony  had  much 
practical  utility.  In  another  hamlet,  not  a  man  was  to 
be  seen,  except  those  who  had  come  with  the  pro- 
cession, and  who  might  in  some  instances  have  joined  it 
from  self-interest,  to  stand  well  with  a  powerful  noble 
family  which  owns  a  large  property  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. The  real  feeling  of  the  male  peasant  in  this  part 
of  France  seems  to  be  that  religion  is  a  sort  of  precau- 
tion which  may  not  turn  out  to  be  of  any  use,  but  which 
it  is  as  well  to  take,  according  to  the  universally  known 
proverb,  si  $a  ne  fait  pas  de  bien,  $a  ne  fera  pas  de  mat. 
When  the  rustic  sticks  a  blessed  hazel  twig  in  his  field 
to  preserve  it  from  hail,  he  cannot  feel  that  it  is  a  sure 
preventive,  because  he  has  often  seen  fields  lashed  with 


Rural  Voltaireanism.  263 

hail  notwithstanding  hazel  twigs  and  benedictions.  But 
then,  on  the  other  hand,  his  fields  have  often  escaped 
when  the  blessed  hazel  was  set  up  in  them,  and  at  these 
times  it  is  just  possible  that  the  blessed  branch  may  have 
been  pour  quclque  chose.  At  any  rate,  the  precaution, 
such  as  it  is,  is  one  that  costs  very  little  trouble.  This, 
so  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  ascertain,  is  the  exact 
shade  of  mingled  faith  and  scepticism  amongst  my  rural 
neighbours.  It  has  always  been  a  very  interesting  pro- 
blem for  me  whether  the  peasants  of  the  male  sex  in 
this  region  can  be  more  accurately  described  as  believ- 
ing their  religion  or  as  not  believing  it.  A  friend  of 
mine  says  that  they  do  really  believe,  but  have  a  kind  of 
surface-scepticism  which  covers  their  belief.  This  is  one 
view.  The  other  view  is  that  they  have  a  surface-reli- 
gion which  covers  a  basis  of  scepticism  as  shallow  water 
may  cover  a  rocky  bed.  The  peculiar  feeling  about 
unbaptized  children  is  common  to  both  sexes,  and  cer- 
tainly looks  like  faith  ;  but  then,  on  the  other  hand, 
there  is  a  distinct  vein  of  scepticism  amongst  the  men 
which  is  as  like  the  Voltairean  spirit  as  the  difference 
between  Voltaire  and  an  unlettered  peasant  will  admit 
It  is  most  difficult  to  describe  with  exact  truth  a  con- 
dition of  mind  which  hardly  ever  expresses  itself  quite 
openly,  and  of  which  the  peasants  themselves  are  seldom 
quite  clearly  conscious.  They  believe  in  the  efficacy 
of  old  wives'  prayers  for  the  cure  of  burns  and  dislo- 
cated shoulders,  and  yet,  at  the  same  time,  if  you  tell 
them  of  a  miracle  fully  authenticated  by  the  clergy, 
they  (the  men)  will  look  at  each  other,  and  smile  with 
the  most  evident  incredulity.  For  example,  there  is  a 


264  A  Miracle  at  Lourdes. 

young  lady,  six  miles  from  my  house,  whose  family  I 
know.  A  little  time  since  she  was  in  a  deplorable  state, 
partially  paralyzed,  and  unable  to  walk.  "  If  I  could  be 
taken  to  Lourdes,"  she  said,  "I  know  I  should  get 
better."  To  Lourdes  she  was  taken  accordingly,  and 
came  back  to  all  appearance  cured.  She  can  walk  and 
run — I  saw  her  do  both  in  my  own  garden  not  a  week 
since — and  she  now  leads  quite  an  active  life.  Here  was 
a  miracle  which  would  have  excited  a  believing  popula- 
tion to  enthusiasm,  and  yet  there  has  been  no  enthu- 
siasm about  it  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  the  men  say 
that  it  was  not  a  miracle  at  all — that  the  young  lady  had 
had  ups  and  downs  in  her  health  before,  and  will  pro- 
bably have  them  again.  This  is  the  cool  way  they  take 
it.  In  the  ages  of  real  faith  a  person  so  favoured  by 
supernatural  power  would  have  created  the  most  intense 
excitement.  People  would  have  travelled  far  to  see  her 
— to  touch  the  hem  of  her  garment,  if,  haply,  some 
supernatural  virtue  might  pass  from  her  to  them.  The 
peasants  did  not  seem  so  much  interested  in  the  matter 
as  I  was  myself.  The  case  interested  me  as  a  remark- 
able evidence  of  the  effect  of  imagination.  A  visit  to 
Lourdes  has  never  restored  an  organ  whose  anatomical 
structure  has  been  changed  by  accident  or  disease,  but 
the  influence  of  it  on  the  imagination  of  a  real  believer 
is  often  so  strong  as  to  produce  a  very  remarkable  and 
beneficial  effect  upon  the  nervous  system. 

Another  very  curious  test  of  rural  religion  was  the 
manner  in  which  the  pilgrimages  were  got  up.  The 
reader  is  aware  that  there  has  been  of  late  years  a 
great  movement  in  France  about  pilgrimages,  a  move- 


How  Pilgrimages  are  Got  up.  26$ 

merit  which  has  extended  to  other  countries,  so  that  the 
French  holy  places  have  been  visited  by  many  pilgrims 
from  England,  Italy,  and  Belgium,  and  even  from  un- 
friendly Germany.  Very  brilliant  accounts  have  been 
given  of  the  enthusiasm  excited  by  these  pilgrimages 
amongst  the  rural  population  of  France  itself.  It  is  cer- 
tainly true  that  many  pilgrimages  have  been  organized  to 
Lourdes  and  Paray-le-Monial.  We  have  seen  them  or- 
ganized, and  we  know  exactly  how  it  is  done — if  the  reader 
cares  to  know  also,  he  will  soon  be  master  of  the  whole 
subject,  which  is  not  at  all  complicated  or  difficult. 

A  pilgrimage  usually  has  its  origin  with  the  bishop  of 
the  diocese  from  which  it  takes  its  departure.  Perhaps 
the  bishop  may  not  be  exactly  the  first  person  to  whom 
the  idea  occurs,  possibly  somebody  suggests  it  to  him, 
but  it  is  he  who  sets  the  enterprise  in  motion  as  the 
Commander  of  the  Faithful  in  his  region.  When  His 
Grandeur  gives  the  word  of  command  to  organize  a  pil- 
grimage, it  is  usually  in  the  form  of  a  very  long  charge, 
which  is  printed  in  double  columns,  and  posted  at  the 
doors  of  all  the  churches.  It  may  occupy  as  much  as  four 
pages  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  The  merits  of  the  saint 
or  blessed  personage  are  duly  set  forth,  and  also  the  great 
favour  of  the  Supreme  Pontiff  towards  all  pilgrims  who 
visit  the  holy  shrine.  The  date  of  the  pilgrimage  is 
fixed,  in  proper  ecclesiastical  style,  on  the  day  of  some 
notable  saint.  The  necessary  impetus  is  now  given,  and 
the  bishop  has  no  further  personal  trouble  in  the  matter, 
until  the  day  arrives,  when  he  goes  at  the  head  of  his 
flock.  But  between  the  charge  and  the  pilgrimage,  a 
feverish  activity  reigns  in  other  quarters.  Female  emis- 


266  A  Zealous  Lady. 

saries  go  forth  amongst  the  people,  and  display  the  most 
remarkable  energy  as  recruiting  sergeants.  A  particu- 
larly active  one,  whom  we  will  call  Madame  Tarbi,  lived 
very  near  us,  so  that  we  saw  exactly  how  the  recruiting 
was-  carried  on.  She  made  her  husband  hunt  up  re- 
cruits also,  but  she  herself  was  the  great  source  of  will 
and  energy.  For  this  she  had  reasons  of  her  own.  An 
ambitious  and  agreeable  little  lady,  she  was  not  ad- 
mitted into  the  noblesse,  because  her  forefathers,  and 
those  of  her  husband,  had  been  too  honest  to  assume  the 
usual  false  de,  so  that  she  was  only  a  roturiere,  and  was 
looked  down  upon  accordingly.  This  was  the  more 
grievous  to  her  that  she  lived  in  an  old  chateau  which, 
though  not  extensive,  had  rather  an  aristocratic  air  on 
account  of  a  pepper-box  tourelle.  Besides,  although 
busy  enough,  physically,  in  managing  her  household 
affairs,  which  were  always  kept  in  excellent  order,  her 
mind  was  left  to  prey  very  much  upon  itself,  for  she  never 
read  anything  or  interested  herself  in  anything  beyond 
the  visible  life  just  immediately  around  her.  A  French- 
woman in  such  a  position  easily  becomes  the  victim  of  an 
idc'e  fixe,  which  is  to  get  into  noble  society,  but  noble 
society  is  a  closed  fortress,  presenting  a  hard  and  massive 
front  to  roturiers  and  outsiders.  One  quality  may  pos- 
sibly open  a  postern  somewhere,  and  let  the  outsider  in. 
That  quality  is  an  active  zeal  in  behalf  of  Legitimacy 
and  the  Church.  Madame  Tarbi  took  care,  therefore,  to 
let  everybody  know  that  she  was  ardently  bleu  pensante. 
The  pilgrimages  were  a  fine  opportunity  for  displaying 
her  zeal  in  the  good  cause ;  so  no  sooner  had  the  curt 
read  the  bishop's  charge  from  the  pulpit,  and  commented 


A   Conversation.  267 

thereupon,  than  Madame  Tarbi  commenced  her  holy 
work.  A  servant  of  our  own  happened  to  be  in  a  farm- 
house just  when  Madame  Tarbi  called  there,  and  from 
her  account,  the  reader  may  judge  of  the  arguments 
used.  "  It  appears,  Madame,"  she  said  to  my  wife  in  the 
evening,  "  that  they  are  going  on  a  pilgrimage  to  the 
country  of  Sainte  Marie  Alacoque,  but  it  is  not  for  that 
saint,  it's  for  another  that  was  in  the  same  convent  with 
her."  By  this  other  saint  she  meant  the  Sacred  Heart, 
and  this  is  all  they  know  about  it.  The  girl  "continued, 
"  It's  to  pray  for  peace,  and  it  will  cost  ten  francs." 
"  Well,  but,  Jeannette,  what  is  the  need  to  pray  for  peace 
at  a  time  when  we  are  at  war  with  nobody  ? "  "  Ma  foil 
Madame,  I  know  nothing  about  it,  but  Madame  Tarbi 
said  so."  "  At  any  rate,  the  sum  of  ten  francs  is  a  good 
deal  for  our  farmers'  wives,  and  there  will  not  be  many 
of  them."  "  Oh,  but  there  will !  Madame  Tarbi  said 
that  everybody  had  his  name  put  down,  and  that  it  was 
better  to  give  ten  francs  to  God  than  to  see  the  com- 
munes lost  altogether."  Madame  Tarbi,  who  was  an 
acute  woman,  found  that  it  answered  best  to  work  upon 
the  fears  and  apprehensions  of  the  farmers'  wives. 
The  following  dialogue  really  took  place  in  a  farm-house 
very  near  us : — 

Farmers  Wife.  Ah,  Madame,  is  it  then  true  that  we 
are  going  to  have  a  year  of  famine  ? 

Mrs.  H.  I  have  heard  nothing  of  the  sort,  and  I  see 
no  signs  of  it. 

Farmers  Wife.  Ah,  but  Madame  Tarbi  has  told  us 
that  the  Bon  Dieu  was  very  angry  at  us,  and  that  He 
had  frozen  the  wines  and  the  fruit  to  show  it ! 


268  A   Conversation. 


Mrs.  H.  Why  is  the  Bon  Dieu  so  angry  with  us  ? 

Farmer's  Wife.  Ma  foi !  Madame,  I  know  nothing 
about  it,  but  Madame  Tarbi  says  that  it's  plain  enough 
to  be  seen  by  the  frost,  and  that  if  we  don't  look  sharp 
and  pray  together  in  a  pilgrimage,  all  the  good  things 
of  the  earth  will  be  lost,  and  we  shall  have  a  year  of 
famine. 

Mrs.  H.  Ten  francs  are  not  much  to  give  to  save  all 
the  crops.  It  is  not  so  dear  as  an  ordinary  insurance. 
But  who  has  told  Madame  Tarbi  that  the  Bon  Dieu  was 
so  angry  with  us  ? 

Farmer's  Wife.  Ma  foi,  Madame !  je  rien  sais  rien. 
She  says  that  so  long  as  we  have  no  Government  things 
will  not  go  well. 

Mrs.  H.  That's  it,  Toinette ;  you  see  you  are  going 
to  make  a  pilgrimage  to  ask  for  a  king. 

Enter  Farmer. 

Farmer.  What  do  we  want  with  a  king  ?  Why  can- 
not they  let  us  alone  ?  They  say  things  cannot  go  on 
as  they  are  doing,  but  we've  nothing  to  complain  of. 
We  sell  our  beasts  and  our  grain  just  as  well  as  if  we'd 
a  king.  It  isn't  the  king  who  buys  everything,  is  it, 
Madame  ?  ( Then  to  his  wife)  I  will  not  let  thee  go 
to  the  pilgrimage,  dost  thou  hear  ? 

Farmers  Wife.  Toinon,  I  durst  not  remain  at  home 
when  the  others  go.  What  would  they  say  of  us  ?  It 
never  does  any  harm  to  pray  to  God  ;  and,  sure  enough, 
I  shall  pray  for  the  crops,  and  not  for  the  king.  What 
does  it  matter  to  me  ? 

Farmer.  So  that's  why  Madame  Tarbi  preaches  to 


Influence  of  Ladies.  269 

people  !  She's  just  been  to  talk  to  Francois,  who  wasn't 
over-pleased.  Frangois  is  not  a  fool,  he's  been  to  Paris, 
and  he  can  read  in  any  sort  of  a  book,  so  he  said  to 
the  lady,  "  It's  a  queer  sort  of  a  pilgrimage,  that  is, 
in  a  railway.  My  wife  once  went  on  a  pilgrimage  for 
our  little  Toinot,  who  had  the  fevers,  and  he  couldn't 
be  cured,  and  we'd  four  girls  and  only  one  boy  for  a 
plough.  Well,  she  did  all  the  distance  on  foot,  with 
bare  feet.  That  was  a  real  pilgrimage;  but  as  to 
pilgrimages  in  railways,  I  don't  believe  in  'em.  There 
will  hardly  be  time  enough  to  pray." 

Farmer's  Wife.  That  isn't  necessary;  the  lady  says 
that  the  intention  is  enough.  Besides,  I  couldn't  ven- 
ture to  refuse  Madame  Tarbi,  for  she  sent  broth  to 
our  little  girls  all  the  time  that  they  had  the  measles. 
The  poor  should  always  submit  themselves  to  the  rich, 
because  they  may  need  their  help  at  any  time ,  and  if 
these  pilgrimages  do  no  good,  at  any  rate  they  do  no 
harm  either. 

All  preceding  acts  of  kindness  or  patronage  on  the 
part  of  an  influential  Legitimist  lady  are  so  many  levers 
with  which  she  prepares  beforehand  a  religious  demon- 
stration of  this  kind.  A  girl  who  came  to  us  to  sew 
said  that  she  did  not  think  there  was  much  piety  in 
putting  on  one's  finest  clothes,  and  in  going  about  the 
country  to  eat  in  the  middle  of  the  fields,  as  one  does 
at  village  feasts,  but  she  would  go  to  the  pilgrimage  all 
the  same,  so  as  not  to  lose  Madame  Tarbi's  custom,  for 
Madame  Tarbi  employed  her  frequently. 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  all  her  skill,  it  seemed  to  us 
that  this  clever  and  influential  lady  rather  deluded 


270  Governments  and  Cows. 

herself  one  Sunday  about  the  sentiments  of  her  vassals 
when  she  considered  it  becoming  and  opportune  to 
make  a  speech  to  them  all,  on  coming  back  from  mass, 
that  they  might  perceive  what  good  results  were  to  be 
expected  from  the  pilgrimages  by  the  fruits  already 
borne  by  them.  "  You  see,"  she  exclaimed,  "  that  God 
is  already  becoming  favourable  to  us,  since  He  has 
caused  Thiers  to  fall,  and  has  put  in  his  place  an 
honest  and  pious  man  like  Marshal  MacMahon.  It  is 
the  beginning  of  the  benedictions  which  the  Divine 
Goodness  is  about  to  accord  to  us,  and  we  may  soon 
hope  to  have  a  Government."  A  general  and  chilling 
silence  was  the  discouraging  reception  of  this  little 
address,  for  the  feelings  of  attachment  towards  M. 
Thiers  which  had  already  taken  root  in  the  breast  of 
the  French  peasant  had  been  considerably  augmented 
since  the  change  of  Government  by  the  fall  in  the 
price  of  cattle  which  immediately  followed  the  acces- 
sion of  Marshal  MacMahon,  and  for  which,  of  course, 
in  some  mysterious  manner,  he  is  held  by  the  peasants 
to  be  responsible. 

The  farmer's  wife  who  figured  in  the  conversation 
quoted  above  came  to  see  us  a  day  or  two  afterwards 
to  ask  for  some,  ad  vice.  She  had  a  disappointed  look, 
and  informed  us  that  a  cow,  for  which  she  had  received 
an  offer  of  550  francs  when  M.  Thiers  was  President, 
was  now  unsaleable  at  400  francs,  and  then  she  inquired 
whether  Madame  Tarbi  would  make  her  pay  ten  francs 
all  the  same  if  she  did  not  go  to  the  pilgrimage. 
"  There  cannot  be  a  doubt  of  it,"  we  answered,  "  if 
your  name  is  written  down."  Then  she  sighed,  and 


Banners.  271 

said,  "If  I  pay  my  ten  francs  I  may  as  well  have 
some  amusement."  In  which  frame  of  mind  she  went 
in  the  crowded  train  to  Paray-le-Monial,  as  a  private 
in  the  company  whereof  Madame  Tarbi  was  now  the 
captain. 

In  addition  to  the  means  of  influence  just  described 
or  alluded  to,  there  are  subscriptions  for.  poor  women 
who  are  bien  pcnsantes,  but  have  not  the  means  necessary 
to  pay  their  fare,  yet  who  are  pleased  with  the  notion  of 
a  day's  outing  that  costs  nothing.  The  lady  patronesses 
themselves  find  a  great  deal  to  interest  and  occupy 
them  in  the  choice  of  banners  with  their  designs, 
colours,  and  emblems,  and  the  great  questions,  who 
will  arrange  them  ?  who  will  carry  them  ?  Any  reader 
who  has  once  seen  a  party  of  ladies  thoroughly  in- 
terested and  excited  about  a  project  involving  some 
expense  and  display  will  easily  imagine  how  delighted 
they  are  with  managing  the  details  of  a  pilgrimage.  The 
whole  thing  suits  them  exactly,  for  it  affords  oppor- 
tunities for  display,  for  domination,  for  social  success  ; 
and  all  in  the  service  of  the  Church,  and  in  company 
with  reverend  ecclesiastics,  including  that  pearl  of 
great  price,  a  bishop !  The  ladies  plan  long  beforehand 
the  great  matter  of  the  toilette,  in  what  costume  they 
will  place  themselves  at  the  head  of  their  respective 
flocks,  and  they  compare  lists  in  order  to  ascertain 
which  lady-patroness  will  lead  the  greatest  number  of 
the  faithful  ;  the  banner  itself  is  one  of  the  strongest 
incentives  to  zeal  on  the  part  of  ladies  like  Madame 
Tarbi,  for  it  is  only  when  they  have  been  able  to  get 
together  a  certain  number  of  faithful  followers  that  the 


2/2  Peasants  and  their   Wives. 

ecclesiastical  authorities  (wise  in  their  generation)  permit 
them  to  carry  a  banner  at  all.  Madame  Tarbi,  after 
counting  the  number  of  her  adherents,  exclaimed  with 
triumphant  joy,  "  Nous  aurons  line  banniere  !  "  which,  in 
fact,  had  all  along  been  one  of  the  principal  objects 
of  her  praiseworthy  exertions.  But  only  imagine  the 
cruel,  crushing  disappointment  of  a  lady  who  just  falls 
short  of  the  number  required,  and  has  to  march  in- 
gloriously,  after  all  her  exertions,  at  the  head  of  a 
bannerless  squad  ! 

It  would  be  an  omission  to  quit  this  subject  of  the 
peasantry  without  some  allusion  to  family  relations 
amongst  themselves.  Between  men  and  their  wives  I 
do  not  think  that,  generally  speaking,  there  is  very 
much  love  or  affection,  but  neither,  on  the  other  hand, 
does  there  seem  to  be  much  distrust,  or  quarrelling,  or 
conjugal  infidelity.  It  is  a  common  error  of  writers  to 
judge  whole  classes  by  a  very  few  specimens  whom  they 
happen  to  know,  and  I  do  my  best  to  avoid  hasty  con- 
clusions of  this  kind,  but  by  adding  together  my  own 
knowledge  of  the  peasantry  and  that  possessed  by 
others  who  are  still  more  familiar  with  them  than  I  am, 
certain  conclusions  may  be  arrived  at  which  are  not 
likely  to  be  very  inaccurate.  The  reader  will  please  to 
remember  that  the  peasantry  live  in  a  mental  condition 
of  quite  antique  simplicity,  and  that  they  have  little 
conception  of  those  needs  of  the  intellect  and  heart 
which  seem  to  us  part  of  the  necessities  of  existence. 
They  are  engaged,  too,  in  an  incessant  and  hard 
struggle  for  plain  food  and  simple  clothing,  which  makes 
them  severe  for  themselves  and  severe  for  those  about 


Paternal  Discipline.  273 

them ;  notwithstanding  much  gentleness  and  charm  of 
manner,  they  have  little  tenderness  ;  such  affection  as 
they  feel  appears  to  be  generally  connected  with  self- 
interest,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  this  very  self-interest 
keeps  them  well  united.  There  is  a  strong  patriarchal 
discipline  in  the  farms.  An  old  farmer  with  several 
grown-up  sons,  and  several  servants,  is  really  in  a 
position  of  far  greater  dignity  and  authority  than  the 
bourgeois  husband,  whose  wife  and  children  chatter 
loudly  in  his  presence,  without  the  slightest  special 
deference  for  the  head  of  the  family,  and  who  is  looked 
upon  simply  as  the  money-earner.  I  remember  one 
farmer  who  never  punished  any  one  in  anger,  but 
who  did  not  hesitate  to  punish  severely  in  cold  blood 
when  he  thought  the  victim  deserved  it  One  day  a 
son  of  his,  a  fine  strong  young  man  of  twenty-four, 
came  back  from  a  little  pleasure  excursion.  He  had 
exceeded  his  leave  of  absence  by  two  days.  The 
father,  a  man  of  seventy,  received  him  with  politeness, 
and  said,  in  }\\s  patois,  "  My  son,  I  gave  thee  no  present 
at  the  New  Year,  but  thou  shalt  lose  nothing  by  this 
delay,  for  I  will  give  thee  thy  present  now."  The 
young  man  stood  still  in  the  middle  of  the  farm-yard 
whilst  his  brother  took  the  horse  to  the  stable.  His 
mother  came  to  him,  and  said  eagerly,  "  Run  away, 
lad,  and  hide  thyself,"  but  the  young  man  stood  firm, 
with  his  arms  folded.  Meanwhile  the  father  had  gone 
to  fetch  a  large  wooden  hay-fork.  "  This  shall  be  thy 
New  Year's  gift,  my  son ! "  he  said,  with  an  ironical 
smile,  and  laid  it  about  him  with  all  his  might  The 
punishment  was  really  severe,  but  the  son  stood  till 

T 


274  Patriarchal  Rule. 


the  end,  and  as  soon  as  it  was  over,  went  straight  to 
his  work  without  a  murmur,  nor  did  I  ever  hear  him 
speak  of  his  father  without  the  most  perfect  filial 
respect  both  in  language  and  in  tone.  On  another 
occasion,  the  eldest  brother,  a  still  older  man,  long 
past  his  majority,  had  done  something  to  displease  the 
old  patriarch,  so  on  his  return  the  father  gave  orders 
that  every  man  and  woman  should  leave  the  house  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  as  he  wished  to  have  a  private 
conversation  with  the  delinquent.  The  conversation 
was  not  long,  but  it  was  followed  by  a  severe  beating 
with  a  goad.  These  punishments  were  very  seldom 
resorted  to,  but  the  reader  perceives  that  the  discipline 
which  applied  them  for  simply  exceeding  leave  of 
absence  was  a  severe  discipline.  One  day  a  youth  in 
the  family  had  been  gathering  some  salad  in  the  fields 
for  his  own  dinner,  and  served  it  at  table.  The  old 
man  perceived  this  and  thought  it  an  infraction  of  dis- 
cipline, so  in  a  quiet  but  very  decided  manner  he  ex- 
pressed displeasure  at  the  incident,  saying  that  one 
of  the  household  ought  not  to  live  differently  from  the 
rest,  but  should  content  himself  with  what  was  pro- 
vided at  the  common  table,  and  he  hoped  such  an 
incident  would  not  occur  again.  I  knew  this  old  man 
very  intimately,  and  I  do  not  think  I  ever  met  with 
any  one  who  had  more  of  what  a  good  judge  in  Eng- 
land would  consider  the  characteristics  of  a  gentleman. 
He  had  both  delicacy  and  dignity,  and  perfect  self- 
control,  and  he  could  keep  up  a  conversation  with 
ladies  with  much  ease  and  politeness,  his  chief  difficulty 
being  the  scantiness  of  his  vocabulary  in  French,  which 


A  Robber}'.  275 

he  spoke  not  very  incorrectly  as  a  foreign  language,  his 
own  tongue  being  the  patois  of  the  hills.  He  was  just 
the  opposite  of  a  tyrant  or  a  brute,  but  he  considered 
that  paternal  discipline  required  the  infliction  of  punish- 
ment and  reproof.  In  the  French  middle  class  corporal 
punishment  is  never  resorted  to,  dry  bread  or  confine- 
ment being  the  substitutes,  but  we  must  remember  that 
the  peasants — the  genuine  rustic  peasants,  I  mean — live 
in  a  much  earlier  and  simpler  state  of  society. 

An  incident  occurred  about  two  years  ago  in  my 
neighbourhood,  in  which,  as  the  reader  will  see,  paternal 
authority  played  a  very  important  part.  There  was  an 
old  gentleman  whom  we  will  call  the  Count,  and  who 
being  in  very  easy  circumstances,  could  indulge  a 
natural  disposition  to  eccentricity.  His  manners  were 
those  of  a  gentleman,  and  he  was  by  no  means  a 
stupid  person,  but  he  had  a  strong  preference  for  the 
society  of  much  younger  men  than  himself,  and  in  a 
class  far  inferior  to  his  own.  He  also  liked  a  sympo- 
sium, and  would  invite  young  farmers  to  come  and 
drink  with  him.  In  former  years  these  symposia  had 
gone  so  far  that  the  Count  used  to  get  perfectly  drunk 
before  they  were  over,  but  of  late  he  had  been  more 
moderate  and  only  got  tipsy.  Now  it  so  happened, 
about  two  years  ago,  that  he  invited  a  party  of  young 
farmers  to  come  and  drink  with  him,  lads  of  twenty  or 
twenty-two  years  old  ;  there  were  six  of  them,  of  whom 
three  were  brothers.  They  drank  with  the  Count  in  a 
private  room  of  his,  and  he  fetched  the  wine  from  the 
cellar  himself.  When  the  symposium  was  so  far  ad- 
vanced that  all  were  elated,  it  being  then  about  one 

T  2 


276  A  Stern  Decision. 

o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  Count  went  to  the  cellar 
again  to  fetch  another  kind  of  wine.  During  his  absence 
one  of  the  three  brothers  noticed  a  pocket-book  on 
the  chimney-piece,  took  it  and  put  it  in  his  own  pocket. 
He,  or  his  brothers,  did  as  much  with  a  ring,  a  watch, 
and  a  purse  full  of  gold.  When  the  Count  came  back 
he  was  too  tipsy  to  notice  the  disappearance  .of  these 
things,  and  the  symposium  went  on  merrily  to  its 
natural  conclusion.  On  the  following  morning,  how- 
ever, he  discovered  his  loss,  remembered  who  had  been 
with  him,  and  told  the  story  to  me  personally,  adding 
that  he  did  not  intend  to  put  the  matter  in  the  hands 
of  the  police  if  the  money  (£80)  were  restored  to  him. 
It  soon  became  evident  that  the  thief  must  have  been 
one  of  the  three  brothers.  When  their  father  became 
aware  of  what  had  occurred,  he  called  the  three  young 
men  into  his  presence,  and  sent  the  rest  of  the  family 
out  of  the  house.  Then  he  locked  the  door,  took 
down  his  gun,  and  quietly  loaded  it,  put  caps  on,  and 
cocked  it  "  Now,"  he  said,  "  I  am  ready.  One  of 
you  three  is  a  thief.  If  in  five  minutes  I  am  not  in- 
formed which  is  the  thief,  I  shall  shoot  two  of  you." 
There  is  no  doubt  that  he  would  have  done  it,  but  be- 
fore the  time  had  expired,  one  of  the  brothers  said,  "  I 
took  the  pocket-book."  It  had  been  buried  in  a  field 
along  with  the  other  valuables,  but  the  lads  had  spent  a 
hundred  francs  of  the  money,  which  the  farmer  re- 
placed at  once,  returning  the  whole  without  delay  to 
its  owner. 

The  peasants  hide  their  money  often  even  yet  in  old 
stockings,   corners   of  cupboards   with   false    bottoms, 


A  Robber  Robbed.  277 

holes  in  the  wall,  or  in  the  ground,  &c.  Sometimes 
they  are  robbed  of  rather  considerable  sums.  I  remem- 
ber one  old  peasant  who  was  robbed  of  fifty  pounds 
by  a  thief  who  entered  the  house  in  broad  daylight 
during  the  only  half  hour  in  the  day  when  there  was 
nobody  in  it,  and  this  thief  was  never  discovered  ;  but 
either  the  same,  or  another,  entered  the  same  house 
some  time  later,  also  in  the  daytime,  thinking  that 
there  was  nobody  at  home.  He  went  straight  to  the 
armoire,  where  the  money  had  usually  been  kept,  and 
did  not  perceive  the  master  of  the  house,  who  was 
lying  ill  in  his  bed  with  the  curtains  drawn.  The 
farmer  peeped  between  the  curtains  and  (very  impru- 
dently) asked  the  thief  what  he  was  doing  there  ?  On 
this  the  thief  violently  assaulted  him,  and  would  pro- 
bably have  killed  him,  had  he  not  heard  steps  ap- 
proaching. During  the  struggle  the  farmer  tore  off 
the  pocket  in  the  thief's  blouse,  and  on  opening  his 
hand  after  the  flight  of  his  enemy,  actually  discovered 
that  he  had  taken  the  thief's  purse,  which  he  showed 
me  the  next  day.  The  purse  contained  a  few  pieces 
of  silver.  Is  not  this  a  beautiful  instance  of  "  poetical 
justice "  in  real  life  ?  The  old  peasant,  was  rather 
shaken  for  a  day  or  two  with  his  fight,  but  the  contents 
of  the  purse  were  a  consolation. 

Before  quitting  the  peasants,  I  may  tell  an  anecdote 
which  throws  some  light  upon  their  intellectual  condi- 
tion. A  very  intelligent  young  peasant,  of  a  superior 
class,  whom  I  knew  quite  well,  came  to  see  me  one  day 
on  a  little  matter  of  business,  and  was  shown  into  my 
writing-room,  where  there  are  a  good  many  books, 


278  Rustic  Notions  of  Literature. 

His  curiosity  was  awakened  by  the  sight  of  these,  and 
he  began  to  ask  questions.     I  encouraged  him  by  kind 
answers,  and  at  last  he  began  to  inquire  about  my  own 
occupations,   which   were   a   very   strange   mystery  to 
him.     I  tried  to  make  these  as  plain  to  him  as  possible, 
showing  him  a  printed  volume  and  a  volume  in  manu- 
script,  but  here  I  encountered  a  singular   and   insur- 
mountable difficulty.    When  he  held  the  printed  volume 
in  his  hands,  he  said,  "  You  have  written  this  beauti- 
fully, it  is  as  well  written  as  if  a  bookseller  had  done  it, 
but  the  other  is  not  so  well  done,  and  will  never  be  as 
pretty."     His  impression  about   books   was   that  each 
copy  was  a  manuscript  made  by  the  bookseller,  and  he 
believed  that  I  was  one  of  those  booksellers  who  made 
the  manuscripts,  only  that  I  was   a   sort  of  amateur, 
because  I  did  not  keep  a  shop.     It  was  impossible  to 
make  him  understand  that  my  rough  manuscripts  would 
look  neat  enough  in  print,  and  equally  impossible   to 
make  him  comprehend  that  my  printed  works  were  not 
beautiful  autographs.      In  a  word,  he  had  never  heard 
of  the  invention  of  printing,  or  did  not  know  what  was 
meant  by  it.     And  yet  the  young  man  was  decidedly 
intelligent  in  all  matters  connected  with  his  daily  life, 
and  had  about  four  hundred  pounds  of  his  own. 

The  pursuit  of  landscape-painting  here,  as  every- 
where else,  is  one  of  the  things  which  puzzle  the  un- 
educated most,  and  there  is  really  no  means  of  making 
them  understand  anything  about  it ;  their  minds  are  not 
prepared  to  receive  the  idea  that  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  fine  art  Notwithstanding  the  fine  natural  aptitude 
for  art  which  distinguishes  the  French  race,  the  great 


Misconception  of  Art.  279 

majority  of  the  French  people  are  really  ignorant  of  its 
existence,  except  in  their  little  religious  prints,  and  the 
pictures  in  the  churches,  which  seem  to  them  only  the 
same  prints  on  a  larger  scale,  the  provincial  art-galleries 
having  really  done  nothing  to  enlighten  the  peasants,  who 
do  not  visit  them.  But  on  this  subject  of  art  I  think 
that  the  total  and  absolute  ignorance  which  prevails 
amongst  the  French  peasants  who  have  never  heard  of 
the  Louvre,  is  less  discouraging  and  less  vexatious  to 
an  artist  or  critic  than  the  profound  misconception  of 
art  which  prevails  amongst  the  Philistine  majority  of 
the  wealthier  classes  both  in  France  and  England. 
The  peasant  sees  me  at  work  from  nature,  and  thinks 
I  am  a  land  surveyor  making  a  map  ;*  but  has  the 
bourgeois,  who  passes  in  his  carriage,  a  much  truer 
conception  of  painting  ?  He  very  rarely  goes  farther 
than  the  elementary  notion  that  it  is  a  way  of  making 
likenesses  of  things  by  means  of  colours,  as  photo- 
graphy is  a  way  of  making  likenesses  of  things  by 
means  of  chemicals.  It  is  only  a  bourgeois  of  very 
rare  and  exceptional  culture  who  has  any  conception 
of  art  as  the  work  of  the  mind,  and  an  expression  of 
intellect  and  imagination. 

In  the  course  of  this  chapter   I   have  selected   in- 

*  Some  think  it  is  land  surveying,  others  think  it  is  photography. 
At  one  time  I  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  photographer,  knd 
people  came  to  have  their  portraits  taken.  I  particularly  remem- 
ber one  very  good-looking  peasant  girl  who  came  into  my  writing- 
room  and  insisted  upon  being  photographed.  She  evidently  did 
not  believe  my  denials,  and  went  away  at  last  with  the  idea  (not 
flattering  to  her  self-esteem)  that  I  had  some  personal  objection 
to  herself,  which  was  certainly  not  the  case. 


280  A    Wonderful  Peasant. 

stances  which  seemed  most  in  accordance  with  common 
every-day  experience ;  but  I  will  mention,  before  con- 
cluding it,  a  peasant  who  is  a  very  remarkable  excep- 
tion, and  who  is  known  to  me  personally,  for  he  is 
a  welcome  guest  at  my  house  whenever  he  chooses 
to  visit  it  He  belongs  really  to  the  true  peasant- 
proprietor  class ;  he  cultivates  his  own  land,  follows 
the  plough  himself,  wears  the  blue  blouse,  and  is  of  a 
genuine  peasant  family.  Like  all  the  superior  peasants, 
he  keeps  his  patois  separate  from  his  French,  but  speaks 
both  very  purely,  and  is  not,  as  others  are,  limited  to  a 
small  vocabulary.  The  first  time  I  met  him  was  at  the 
house  of  a  country  squire,  where  I  happened  to  be 
staying  for  two  or  three  days.  Our  host  said  to  me 
one  morning,  "  I  owe  you  some  apology  for  inviting  a 
peasant  to  dine  and  stay  all  night  whilst  you  are  here, 
but  you  will  find  him  an  interesting  person."  The 
guest  presented  himself  in  his  blue  blouse.  His  man- 
ners were  the  perfection  of  good  breeding,  he  was  quite 
at  ease,  took  a  fair  share  in  the  conversation,  and  soon 
interested  me  more  than  any  other  person  present 
When  we  separated  the  next  day,  he  asked  my  permis- 
sion to  call  upon  me,  and  I  gave  him  my  address,  which 
was  at  some  distance  from  the  house  where  we  had 
met.  A  few  days  later  he  paid  his  call.  To  my  in- 
tense amazement  he  began  to  talk  about  English  lite- 
rature and  English  newspapers,  gave  his  opinion  about 
the  way  in  which  several  of  the  leading  newspapers  in 
London  were  conducted,  talked  about  the  Times,  the 
Daily  News,  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  &c.  In  our  book- 
literature  he  had  read  several  of  our  best  classic  authors 


A  Reader  of  English.  281 

in   the   original,   and   some   contemporaries.     He    had 
heard  that  I  was  an  English  author,  and  felt  curious  to 
know  what  I  had  written.     On  looking  over  my  books, 
he  borrowed  "  The  Intellectual  Life,"  "  Thoughts  about 
Art,"  and  one   or  two  others.     He  read  them  steadily 
through,  and  duly  returned  them  at  the  end  of  a  few 
weeks.     The  book  of  mine  which  most  interested  him 
was   "  The  Intellectual  Life,"  which   he   found  to  his 
taste.     The  book  called  "  Thoughts  about  Art,"  which 
is  a  collection  of  essays  on  artistic  subjects,  attracted 
his  attention  also,  for  he  takes  a  lively  and  intelligent 
interest   in  the  fine   arts.     Reading   English,   he   said, 
was  one  of  his  greatest  pleasures,  he   liked   the   sim- 
plicity of  our  language,  and  the  tone  which  is  prevalent 
in  our  better  literature.    He  greatly  admired  the  energy 
of  our  journalism,  its   full   information,   and   the   sur- 
prising rapidity  with  which  it  gives  an  account  of  all 
that  happens.     If  I  were  to  say  that  this  remarkable 
peasant  was  equal  to  a  bourgeois,  the  comparison  would 
be  very  unjust  to  him.     The  French  bourgeois  is  rarely 
free  from   some   taint  of    Philistinism,   and  very  fre- 
quently, indeed,  he  is  as  Philistine  as  he  possibly  can 
be,  utterly  incapable  of  taking  any  interest  in  anything 
outside  of  the  present  in  space  and  time,  and  always 
ready  to  laugh  at  everything  that  is  above  the  low  level 
of  his  own  petty  and  pitiful  existence.     This  peasant 
has   not   the  faintest  trace  of  any  kind   of  Philistinism 
in    his  nature.     His   mind    is   broad   and  just,   he  is 
capable   of  the   interests  which  widen   a  human    soul, 
and  of    the   admirations   which   elevate    it,   whilst   he 
does   not   shrink   from  real   intellectual  labour,  which 


282  Rustic  Life  and  Mental  Culture. 

the  common  bourgeois  shirks   and   hates   like  an   idle 
schoolboy. 

The  question  which  will  most  interest  the  intelligent 
reader  just  at  present  is,  whether  it  is  possible  for  such 
a  cultivated  man  as  this  to  remain  in  the  peasant  class. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  this  one  does  follow  the  plough,  and 
lead  the  genuine  rustic  life,  but  there  is  a  special  reason. 
He  abandoned  the  rustic  life  a  good  many  years  ago, 
and  went  to  live  in  Paris,  where  he  obtained  some 
commercial  employment.  He  would  probably  have 
remained  in  Paris  many  years  longer  had  health  per- 
mitted, but  a  peculiar  form  of  chronic  indigestion  was 
the  consequence  of  town  air  and  confinement.  After 
trying  all  their  drugs,  the  doctors  said  at  last,  "  It  is 
of  no  use  physicking  yourself  any  more,  one  thing  only 
is  needed,  one  thing  only  can  bring  your  health  back 
again,  and  that  is  the  old  rustic  life  which  you  were 
accustomed  to  before  you  came  to  Paris.  You  must  go 
back  to  the  plough,  there  is, nothing  else  for  it,  la  santt 
est  a  ce prix"  On  this  my  friend  accepted  his  lot  quite 
cheerfully,  thought  to  himself, — 

"  ergo  tua  rura  manebunt  1 
Et  tibi  magna  satis," 

and  returned  to  his  native  fields  and  the  old  life  of 
frugality  and  exercise.  This  is  how  it  has  come  to 
pass  that  we  have  a  peasant  in  our  neighbourhood  who 
is  such  a  singular  exception  to  the  general  rule  of 
ignorance.  I  still  maintain,  however,  that  cultivated 
people  will  not,  when  they  can  help  it,  remain  in  the 
peasant-class.  This  one  has  two  sons — is  he  educating 


Continuity  of  Rustic  Tradition.  283 

them  to  be  peasants  ?  Certainly  not.    He  has  sent  one  of 
them  to  England  to  learn  English  and  study  commerce, 
and  having  discovered  a  strong  artistic  gift  iri  the  other, 
he  is  now  giving  him  a  thorough  artistic  education  in 
Paris   as  a   sculptor.     How  very  unlike   the   ordinary 
peasant's  ideas  about  bringing  up  his  children !     How 
completely  outside  of  the  class-limits,  the  class-tradi- 
tions !     This  is  what  I  always  maintain,  that  the  igno- 
rance of  the  French  peasantry  is  an  essential  element 
in  the  continuity  of  their   life.     Educate  one  of  them 
and  you  break  the  tradition  of  a  thousand  years ;  the 
continuity  of  the  family  life  is  interrupted,  broken  for 
ever,  and  past  all  possible  mending.     These  breakings 
are   now  becoming  more   and    more    frequent    in   the 
peasant  families.     Formerly,  a  rustic  lad  who  had  more 
than  common  natural  refinement  and  intelligence  always 
went  into  the  priesthood,  and  lived  afterwards  amongst 
peasants  in  some  country  parish,  unless  his  gifts  were  so 
extraordinary  as  to  elevate  him   to  one  of  the  great 
dignities  of  the  Church.     As   a  country  priest,  he  did 
not  really  break  the  continuity  of  rustic  tradition,  foi 
instead  of  being  a  hearer  in  the  village  church  of  his 
boyhood  he  became  the  officiating  priest  in  some  othei 
village  church,  and  instead  of  ploughing  the  fields  he 
blessed  them.      His   life  was   still   bound   up  with  all 
rural  interests  and  cares,  and  the  rule  of  celibacy  pre- 
vented him  from  looking  forward  to  another  ambition 
for  any  sons  of  his.   Thus  it  happened,  very  remarkably, 
that  all  cultivated  peasants  were  in  former  times  child- 
less men,  and  men  who  drew  nobody  out  of  the  class. 
Neither  did  they  bring  into  the  class  any  new  members 


284  Increase  of  Luxury. 

imperfectly  trained  "in  its  austere  traditions.  The  class 
therefore  remained  strong  and  homogeneous  in  its  fixed 
usages,  and  preserved  them  along  with  that  ignorance 
which  is  one  of  their  principal  safeguards.  It  does  not 
need  any  uncommon  prophetic  foresight  to  perceive 
that  the  genuine  old  French  peasant  will  be  unknown 
in  a  hundred  years.  Even  now  the  young  men  are  less 
frugal  than  their  fathers  ;  and  the  richer  peasants,  with 
the  increase  of  their  wealth,  are  adopting,  little  by  little, 
many  of  those  luxuries  or  comforts  which  formerly 
belonged  exclusively  to  the  bourgeoisie  and  noblesse. 
The  last  generation  did  not  smoke,  from  motives  of 
economy,  the  indulgence  was  considered  too  expensive ; 
the  present  generation  smokes  without  considering  the 
expense.  The  use  of  wine  is  becoming  gradually  more 
general.  Children  are  sent  to  school  in  towns  who,  had 
they  lived  twenty  years  earlier,  would  have  been  kept  on 
the  farm  to  watch  the  sheep  or  the  geese.  These  educated 
children  will  never  be  real  rustics  like  their  fathers  and 
mothers;  they  are  easily  distinguishable  already.  If 
the  Republic  lasts,  and  the  Republicans  have  their  will 
in  a  system  of  general  secular  education,  the  peasantry 
will  be  pervaded  by  new  ideas  and  by  new  habits  also. 
I  am  far  from  the  temper  which  laments  the  loss  of 
what  is  old,  merely  from  a  romantic  interest  in  the 
past.  The  old  feudal  noblesse  was  as  romantic  as 
possible,  but  I  am  heartily  glad  that  its  power  is 
broken  for  ever.  Nor  would  I  sacrifice  human  well- 
being  to  an  artist's  fancy  for  the  picturesque.  The 
picturesque  old  farm-houses,  with  their  thatched  roofs, 
dormer  windows,  and  delightful  disorder  of  quaint 


Learning  and  Self-Indulgence.  285 

detail,  are  precious  indeed  to  artists,  yet  we  ought  not 
to  regret  their  now  rapid  disappearance,  for  they  are 
replaced  by  buildings  incomparably  better  planned  for 
human  health  and  convenience.  But  there  is  one  thing 
which  I  really  do  regret,  and  that  is  the  impossibility — 
for  it  seems  as  if  there  were  some  difficulty  here  which 
amounts  practically  to  that — the  impossibility  of  com- 
bining the  self-denial  of  a  simple  state  of  life  with  the 
intelligence  of  an  advanced  one.  There  seems  to  be 
in  the  depths  of  human  nature  some  radical  incom- 
patibility between  any  really  heroic  degree  of  frugality 
and  even  a  very  ordinary  education.  The  uneducated 
French  peasant  has  the  self-denial  of  a  stoic  philoso- 
pher, and  the  dignity  of  a  Hebrew  patriarch ;  he  can 
govern  himself  and  govern  others — the  daily  work  of 
his  life  is  a  constant  discipline.  In  the  same  country, 
under  the  same  climate  and  laws,  educated  professional 
men  are  generally  epicures.  The  connection  between 
learning  arid  self-indulgence  is  very  strongly  marked 
in  a  recent  work  on  Burgundy  by  M.  Emile  Monte"gut 
Just  observe  it  in  the  following  sentences  ! — "  Une  aisance 
cossue,  un  loisir  studieux,  les  charmes  de  C  Erudition  et  les 
volupte's  de  la  cuisine,  e"churent  en  partage  a  Dijon  trans- 
forme"  en  ville  parlementaire."  ....  "  Oh  !  les  grasses 
vies  de  savantst  et  les  studieuses  vies  d1  fyicuriens  1 " 


286 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

Position  of  the  Church — The  Lay  Spirit  and  the  Sacerdotal 
Spirit — Temper  of  the  Laity — Protestantism — Ceremonial  in 
Modern  Life — Marriages  and  other  Occasions — Positive  and 
Negative  Religious  Liberty — Indulgence  of  the  Church — Her 
Position  with  regard  to  Women — What  Women  think  of  other 
Religions — Anecdote  of  a  Young  Lady — Ecclesiastical  Self- 
Assertion — Instances — The  French  University — English  Criti- 
cism of  it — Clerical  Objections  to  it — Catholic  Universities — 
True  Nature  of  the  Lay  University — Its  Extensive  Usefulness 
— Stock  Accusations  against  it — The  Teachers  not  merely 
Slaves — Necessity  for  a  Central  Authority — Value  and  Defects 
of  the  Education  given  by  the  University — Too  many  Things 
Attempted — Clerical  and  Aristocratic  Criticism — Ignorance  of 
Frenchmen — The  Pride  and  Prejudice  of  Classicism — Unfair- 
ness of  English  Criticism — Reasons  why  it  is  Unfair. 

IN  the  course  of  the  last  chapter  we  alluded  to  some 
ecclesiastical  matters  in  connection  with  the  pilgrimages, 
and  this  leads  me  to  say  something  more  about  the 
clergy  and  about  the  position  of  the  Church  in  modern 
France.  The  subject  is  much  too  complex  to  be  dealt 
with  thoroughly  here,  but  a  few  pages  ought  to  be  given 
to  it,  for  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  anything  of  greater 
interest  or  importance. 

Two  great  forces  are  perpetually  struggling  for  the 
mastery  of  France,  the  lay  spirit  and  the  sacerdotal 
spirit.  The  contest  between  them  has  rarely  been 
keener  than  it  is  just  now,  although  it  is  conducted 


Laymen  and  Sacerdotalists.  287 

without  any  other  violence  than  some  occasional  violence 
of  language,  and  even  this  bears  no  proportion  to  the 
vastness  of  the  contest,  which  is  often  either  altogether 
noiseless  or  conducted  with  much  propriety  of  form. 

The  object  which  the  lay  spirit  has  in  view  is  to 
secure  the  political  and  scientific  independence  of  lay- 
men, so  that  they  may  manage  the  affairs  of  the  State 
and  follow  all  kinds  of  intellectual  pursuits  without 
asking  the  permission  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  The 
object  which  the  sacerdotal  spirit  has  in  view  is  to 
establish  such  a  domination  over  laymen  that  they 
may  not  venture  upon  any  political  course  of  action, 
or  upon  any  course  of  intellectual  study,  without  being 
authorized  by  the  priesthood. 

It  is  not  just  to  represent  the  struggle  as  one  simply 
between  belief  and  unbelief.  If  Milton  had  lived  in  the 
France  of  to-day,  he  would  certainly  have  contended 
energetically  against  the  sacerdotal  party,  and  yet  Milton 
believed  in  Christianity.  If  a  town  full  of  modern 
Englishmen  could  be  transported  into  the  midst  of 
France,  all  the  Low  Churchmen  and  all  the  Dissenters 
would  be  against  the  sacerdotal  party,  the  Ritualists  and 
Roman  Catholics  might  be  on  its  side,  yet  not  all  even 
of  these,  for  many  sincere  Roman  Catholics,  both  in 
England  and  elsewhere,  think  that  it  is  well  there  should 
be  some  limit  to  the  power  of  their  own  priesthood. 

The  lay  party  in  France  has  not  any  desire  to  get  rid 
of  the  Roman  Church,  it  has  not  generally  any  of  the 
active  hostility  towards  it  which  is  felt  in  a  Protestant 
community.  The  lay  party  looks  upon  the  Church  as  a 
man  of  thirty-five  may  look  upon  his  old  mother  who 


288  Frenchmen  and  the  Church. 

has  very  strong  instincts  of  domination.  He  does  not 
want  to  kill  his  old  mother,  he  does  not  even  wish  that 
she  might  die  a  natural  death,  but  he  will  so  manage,  in 
a  quiet  way,  that  she  shall  not  rule  him  like  an  infant. 
He  may  not  say  very  much  in  answer  to  her  scoldings, 
but  he  will  act  with  the  independence  of  manhood. 

This  brings  me  to  one  of  those  curious  international 
misunderstandings  which  seem  destined  to  be  eternal. 
English  people  sometimes  wonder  that  there  is  not  a 
great  Protestant  revolt  of  the  French  conscience  against 
some  astounding  new  doctrine  of  the  Vatican,  such  as 
the  Immaculate  Conception,  or  the  Papal  Infallibility. 
The  ordinary  Frenchman  is  not  at  all  in  that  state  of 
mind  which  makes  such  a  revolt  likely,  or  even  possible. 
For  revolts  of  that  kind  energetic  faith  is  needed,  with 
its  sensitiveness  and  its  determination.  The  ordinary 
Frenchman  is  accustomed  to  consider  the  Church  as  a 
venerable  entity  which  somehow  exists  outside  the 
domain  of  reason,  and  if  she  were  to  proclaim  a  new 
marvel  every  week,  it  would  make  no  difference  in  his 
attitude  towards  her.  He  is  not,  like  Mr.  Gladstone, 
deeply  moved  and  alarmed  because  the  Pope  says  he  is 
infallible,  nor  does  he  think  it  necessary  to  protest 
against  the  self-assertion  of  the  Vatican.  The  fact  is, 
that  he  does  not  care  anything  about  the  details  of 
dogma ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  likes  so  to  manage 
matters,  in  a  very  quiet  way,  that  the  sacerdotal  party 
may  not  really  govern  him.  If  that  party  were  to 
become  as  strong  as  it  desires  to  be,  it  would  arouse  a 
more  active  opposition,  and  then  we  might  possibly  see 
an  exciting  contest  like  that  which  is  going  on  in 


Frenchmen  and  Protestantism.  289 

Germany.  This,  however,  is  in  the  highest  degree 
improbable.  A  quiet  kind  of  resistance  has  for  many 
years  been  sufficient  to  secure  a  remarkably  complete 
degree  cf  personal  liberty,  and  the  same  quiet  resistance 
will  probably  suffice  to  maintain  it.  On  the  other  side, 
the  sacerdotal  party  carries  on  a  warfare  of  the  same 
silent  kind,  gaining  influence,  wherever  possible,  over 
families  and  schools ;  over  tradesmen  and  professional 
people  through  their  commercial  or  professional  interests  ; 
over  the  National  Assembly  and  the  Government  by  its 
alliance  with  what  are  called  Conservative  principles  and 
the  safety  of  society.  The  sacerdotal  party  is  steadily 
aggressive,  the  lay  party  is  always  simply  on  the  defen- 
sive, and  here  lies  its  chief  weakness.  Mr.  Gladstone 
says  of  the  first  that  it  has  "  faith,  self-sacrifice,  and  the 
spirit  of  continuity,"  which,  indeed,  are  three  mighty 
powers;  but  the  lay  party  has  not  much  faith,  and  as  to 
self-sacrifice,  its  object  is  just  the  opposite,  namely,  self- 
defence.  Of  the  spirit  of  continuity,  it  has  nothing  con- 
sciously ;  but,  in  fact,  it  is  kept  continuously  to  its  own 
principles  by  the  very  persistence  of  its  adversaries. 

"  Would  it  not  be  much  better,"  the  English  reader  is 
not  unlikely  to  ask,  "  for  the  French  to  embrace  some 
form  of  Protestantism,  and  so  be  fairly  independent  of 
the  Vatican,  and  not  in  the  false  position  of  people  who 
have  to  be  constantly  resisting  the  encroachments  of 
a  Church  to  which  they  nominally  belong?"  The  only 
reasonable  answer  to  this  is,  that  it  is  useless  to  speculate 
on  what  would  be  best,  since  the  only  really  interesting 
question  is  what  is  possible,  what  is  in  harmony  with  the 
character  of  the  people  as  we  find  them.  The  English 

U 


290  Need  of  Ceremony, 

or  American  reader  might  like  to  be  told  that  Protes- 
tantism was  making  great  progress,  or  likely  to  make 
great  progress,  amongst  the  French  people,  but  the 
assertion  would  be  untrue.  It  exists,  its  liberties  are 
so  far  secured  that  no  attempt  will  be  made  to  extinguish 
the  two  Protestant  Churches,  which  are  paid  by  the 
State,  but  it  has  only  the  same  kind  of  position  that 
Unitarianism  has  in  England  ;  indeed  a  large  proportion 
of  French  Protestants,  though  not  the  majority,  really 
are  Unitarians.  The  ordinary  Frenchman  either  follows 
his  own  reason  or  else  submits  to  ecclesiastical  authority. 
If  he  follows  his  own  reason,  he  is  almost  always  a  free- 
thinker, and  if  he  submits  to  authority,  no  church  on 
earth  appears  to  him  so  authoritative  as  that  of  Rome. 
There  is  another  and  more  subtle  reason  why  the  Church 
of  Rome  is  likely  to  keep  her  place.  Modern  life  is 
miserably  deficient  in  external  pomp  and  solemnity, 
even  on  those  occasions  when  people  feel  that  visible 
ceremony  is  necessary.  The  Church  of  Rome  supplies 
this  want,  and  supplies  it  with  all  the  skill  derived  from 
centuries  of  traditional  experience.  Take  the  occasion 
of  marriage,  for  instance.  The  legal  marriage  is  that 
solemnized  by  the  maire,  but  people  do  not  feel  that  it 
is  enough,  and  this  feeling  of  its  insufficiency  need  not 
be  due  to  religious  opinion,  for  a  simple  philosopher  who 
had  any  sense  of  propriety  would  share  it.  In  our  vil- 
lage there  is  no  public  room  for  occasions  of  this  kind, 
so  all  the  marriages  are  celebrated  in  the  school-room,  a 
poor  place,  hung  with  a  few  maps  and  alphabets.  The 
maire  gets  behind  the  schoolmaster's  desk,  ties  his  official 
scarf  round  his  waist,  reads  his  little  formula,  asks  the 


Ceremonies  of  the  Church.  291 

woman  if  she  will  have  the  man,  and  the  man  if  he  will 
have  the  woman,  after  which  he  declares  them  married  ; 
and  married  they  are  indeed  in  the  eye  of  the  law,  but 
nobody  present  feels  that  this  is  enough.  The  village 
priest  supplies  what  is  wanting,  a  solemn  and  impressive 
ceremony,  in  a  building  which,  at  least  comparatively,  is 
noble,  and  can  affect  the  imagination,  a  building  with 
vaulted  roof  borne  high  on  arches,  and  painted  windows, 
wherein  are  pictured  legends  of  the  saints.  The  priest 
himself  does  not  look  like  a  common  man  prepared  for 
a  common  occasion.  He  is  at  the  same  time  splendid  and 
dignified,  like  a  personage  prepared  for  some  act  of  high 
importance.  He  goes  through  a  long  ceremony  slowly, 
hurrying  nothing  and  omitting  nothing,  and  whilst  it  is 
proceeding,  the  bride  feels,  the  bridegroom  feels — all  pre- 
sent are  made  to  feel — that  the  day  of  marriage  is  not  a 
common  day,  and  that  the  pair  who  enter  into  the  new 
state  are  not  forgotten,  nor  neglected,  nor  passed  over 
with  slight  notice,  as  if  the  event,  so  great  to  them,  were 
of  no  consequence  to  others.  If  an  anti-clerical  govern- 
ment wished  to  weaken  sacerdotalism  effectually,  its 
best  means  of  doing  so  would  be  to  establish  imposing 
civil  ceremonies  for  the  great  occasions  of  private  and 
public  life ;  but  to  this  there  is  the  insuperable  objection 
that  no  modern  authority  could  invent  such  ceremonies 
without  making  them  and  itself  ridiculous.  The  Church 
has  them  from  tradition,  and  is  not  ridiculous.  Here  is  one 
of  her  great  forces,  she  can  supply  the  need  of  ceremony 
and  solemnity  which  exists  in  human  nature,  and  she 
always  has  the  means  of  doing  so  ready  to  hand  in  hei 
own  traditional  usages.  I  have  mentioned  one  occasion 

U   2 


292  Civil  and  Religious  Burial. 

that  of  marriage,  as  an  instance,  but  how  many  other 
occasions,  private  and  public,  make  people  feel  the  same 
need  !  There  is  the  great  subject  of  civil  and  religious 
burial.  Thousands  of  Frenchmen  who  have  hardly  any 
faith  in  the  dogmas  of  the  Church  would  not  like  to 
be  buried,  or  to  see  their  friends  buried,  without  her 
impressive  ceremonies,  simply  because  the  advocates  of 
civil  burial  have  never  yet  been  able  to  invent  any  new 
customs  impressive  enough  to  take  their  place.  The 
priest,  so  splendid  for  a  marriage,  wears  nothing  but 
black  and  white  vestments  for  a  funeral ;  even  the  altar 
itself  is  in  mourning,  and  crape  hangs  from  the  silver 
cross.  And  then  the  solemn  singing,  the  Dies  Tree,  and 
the  rest  ?  Who  can  invent  all  that  ?  On  public  occa- 
sions of  solemnity  the  priest  is  scarcely  less  indispen- 
sable. A  railway  is  opened,  people  wish  to  make  the 
ceremony  imposing;  they  get  the  prefect  to  come,  but 
who  is  the  prefect  ?  After  all  he  is  only  a  gentleman  in 
uniform,  something  like  court  dress,  with  some  em- 
broidery on  his  breast,  and  a  ribbon  in  his  button-hole. 
The  really  splendid  man  is  the  bishop,  with  his  golden 
cope,  his  crozier  of  silver-gilt,  and  his  mitre  all  blazing 
with  jewels.  He  comes  with  his  priests,  gets  upon  the 
locomotive,  blesses  the  railway,  and  everybody  feels 
that  a  real  ceremony  has  been  performed.  When  the 
National  Assembly  is  opened,  after  each  recess  there 
is  pontifical  high  mass,  a  usage  which  is  likely  to  be 
perpetuated  simply  because  a  number  of  deputies  in 
frock  coats  are  not  able  of  themselves  to  get  up  any- 
thing magnificent  enough  for  the  importance  of  the 
occasion.  The  incredible  poverty  of  laymen  in  the 


Positive  Religious  Liberty.  293 

nineteenth  century  in  everything  relating  to  ceremonies 
or  public  occasions,  may  pass  unobserved  in  countries 
where  the  need  for  them  is  no  longer  felt,  but  the  Latin 
races  are  still  very  much  alive  to  the  sort  of  poetry 
which  strikes  the  eye,  and  ordinary  life  leaves  a  void 
which  the  Church  of  Rome  fills  very  perfectly.  When 
M.  Thiers  was  President  of  the  Republic,  the  modern 
poverty  of  costume  was  conspicuous  in  the  plainness  of 
his  dress.  A  new  costume,  invented  for  him,  would  have 
made  people  laugh,  but  the  old  desire  for  visible  splen- 
dour is  not  extinct,  it  is  unsatisfied.  Its  only  remaining 
satisfactions  are  ecclesiastical  and  military  pomp.  I 
believe,  therefore,  that  the  splendour  of  the  Church  of 
Rome,  so  far  from  being  a  cause  of  weakness  for  the 
Church,  as  it  might  be  in  a  more  northern  country,  is 
still  with  the  Latin  races  one  of  the  sources  of  her 
strength,  and  that  the  plainer  and  more  externally  unin- 
teresting modern  life  becomes,  the  more  decidedly  does 
this  ecclesiastical  splendour  supply  a  want  that  is  felt, 
especially  on  solemn  private  or  public  occasions. 

Another  reason,  though  a  negative  one,  why  the 
Church  of  Rome  is  on  the  whole  satisfactory  to  French- 
men, is  that  she  interferes  so  little  with  their  ordinary 
habits  of  life.  Positive  religious  liberty  in  France  is  not 
yet  quite  complete ;  you  cannot  open  a  Dissenting 
chapel  without  being  authorized,  and  the  authority  to 
do  so  may  be  refused  ;  you  cannot  preach  in  the  public 
streets,  or  in  the  fields,  if  you  attempted  it  you  would 
most  likely  be  put  in  prison.  But  the  want  of  the  com- 
plete positive  liberty  is  not  much  felt  by  Frenchmen,  if 
indeed  they  ever  feel  it,  or  are  aware  of  it  at  all ;  for 


294  Negative  Religious  Liberty. 


they  never,  or  only  in  the  most  rare  and  exceptional 
instances,  feel  any  desire  to  preach  in  the  fields  or 
streets ;  the  sort  of  liberty  they  really  do  care  for,  and 
are  determined  to  secure,  is  negative  liberty-— I  mean 
that  they  would  resent  any  interference  of  the  clergy  in 
their  ordinary  life.  In  this  the  Church  of  Rome  is  bonne 
mere.  She  has  a  tradition  that  it  is  wrong  to  eat  meat 
on  Fridays,  but  you  can  get  meat  on  Friday  in  any  hotel 
in  France  except  those  which  are  specially  frequented 
by  priests,  and  it  is  only  in  the  stricter  houses  amongst 
the  laity  that  the  rule  is  enforced  with  anything  like 
rigour.  Even  amongst  religious  people  themselves  it 
gives  way  at  once  before  the  recommendation  of  a 
physician.  I  have  myself  seen  a  priest  eating  mutton 
chops  on  Friday  because  his  doctor  said  that  they  would 
be  better  for  him  than  fish.  So  many  good  things  are 
considered  maigres,  that  in  any  rich  man's  house  the 
Friday  may  be  looked  forward  to  as  a  pleasant  change ; 
indeed  some  of  the  most  delicious  repasts  imaginable 
are  served  to  rich  people  on  fast-days.  There  is  hardly 
anything  else  in  which  the  Church  can  be  said  to  inter- 
fere in  the  course  of  every-day  life.  A  man  who  followed 
her  offices  very  exactly  might  find  them  a  fatigue,  but  a 
Frenchman  is  not  expected  to  do  that.  One  great  merit, 
at  least,  the  Church  has  in  the  eyes  of  every  Frenchman 
who  knows  the  customs  of  Protestant  countries — she 
does  not  interfere  with  his  Sunday.  English  and 
American  travellers  often  imagine,  when  they  see  French- 
men playing  billiards  or  going  out  shooting  on  Sunday, 
that  they  must  be  reprobates  who  knowingly  disobey 
the  Church.  It  is  not  so ;  the  Church  has  no  objection 


Great  Personal  Liberty.  295 

to  any  occupation  on  Sunday  which  does  not  earn 
money,  and  even  with  regard  to  those  occupations  which 
do  earn- it, -she  is  not  very  severely  intolerant.  A  very 
pious  Frenchman  told  me  that  the  Church  did  not  object 
to  literary  or  artistic  work  on  Sunday ;  but  only  to 
slavish  labour,  her  object  being  rather  to  protect  the 
poor  drudge,  than  to  interfere  with  the  liberal  pursuits 
of  the  cultivated  classes.  Thus  the  only  two  days  of 
the  week  on  which  the  Church  might  be  supposed  to 
exert  her  authority  in  a  special  manner  are  days  of 
perfect  liberty  for  the  ordinary  Frenchman ;  so  far,  at 
least,  as  her  dictates  are  concerned.  He  thinks  that  he 
might  go  farther,  in  the  way  of  reform,  and  fare  worse. 
He  has  heard  (though  he  can  never  quite  seriously  believe 
it)  that  there  are  countries  where  a  rural  squire  may  not 
shoot  on  his  own  land  on  Sunday,  and  dare  not  use  his 
own  billiard-table,  and  he  has  a  suspicion  that  if  Protes- 
tants of  the  Guizot  type  got  the  upper  hand  in  France, 
they  might  put  a  veto  on  his  ordinary  amusements.  It 
is  very  likely,  indeed,  that  they  would,  for  M.  Guizot 
had  a  fine  spirit  of  domination,  and  a  resolute  hostility 
to  heretics  ;  but  the  Guizots  are  in  a  very  small  minority 
when  compared  with  the  whole  nation,  so  men  feel  that 
their  negative  religious  liberty  is  safe,  and  that  is  what 
they  seriously  care  for.  A  traveller  from  a  Protestant 
country  is  likely  to  conclude  that  the  Church  in  France 
is  weak  because  there  is  so  much  personal  liberty,  and  a 
traveller  from  a  despotic  country  might  infer  that  the 
English  monarchy  was  weak  for  the  same  reason  ;  but 
both  inferences  would  be  erroneous.  It  is  the  strength 
and  not  the  weakness  of  the  English  throne  that  the 


296  The  Church  and  Women. 

Sovereign  does  not  interfere -with  individual  liberty,  and 
it  is  the  strength  and  not  the  weakness  of  the  Romish 
Church  in  France  that  she  can  exist  and  flourish  with 
so  little  inconvenience  to  the  laity. 

I  have  been  considering  the  relation  of  the  Church  to 
the -male  sex,  and  I  have  endeavoured  to  show  that 
there  are  reasons  why  she  is  not  likely  to  be  regarded 
with  much  unkindness  so  long  as  she  keeps  within 
certain  limits,  which  are  perfectly  well  known  to  her. 
With  regard  to  the  other  sex  the  case  is  different. 
The  relations  of  the  Church  with  women  are  much 
closer  and  more  intimate  than  with  men.  For  them  she 
is  the  confidant  and  consoler,  especially  by  means  of 
confession,  which  women  delight  in  as  a  precious  oppor- 
tunity for  talking  about  what  most  interests  them  in 
their  own  lives.  Here,  indeed,  the  Church  does  really 
exercise  authority,  for  the  lives  of  all  devout  women, 
except  the  few  who  are  Protestants,  are  entirely  under 
her  guidance.  But  the  authority  here  is  not  felt  to  be 
tyrannical  in  any  way,  because  it  is  so  willingly  accepted. 
Women  love  the  Church,  their  only  regret  is  not  to  be 
able  to  make  their  husbands  and  brothers  love  her  as 
much  as  they  do.  The  interference  with  human  life 
is  here  a  source  of  positive  strength,  just  as  the  non- 
interference irj  the  affairs  of  the  other  sex  is  a  source  of 
negative  strength.  Women  support  the  Church  with 
the  ardour  of  genuine  conviction,  and  see  the  outer 
world  by  looking  through  her  coloured  windows. 

It  is  from  this  support  of  the  female  sex  that  the 
Church  derives  her  enormous  social  weight.  By  means 
of  this,  rather  than  by  obtaining  legal  enactments,  she 


Feminine  Horror  of  Jews.  297 

keeps  Protestantism  in  a  position  of  inferiority.     Pro- 
testantism is  dissent  in  France — tolerated,  but  inferior. 
Legally,  there  is  no  State  Church  in  the  country,  or,  at 
least,  the  two  Protestant  Churches,  being  paid  by  the 
State,  and  the  Jewish  religion,  which  is  paid  also,  are  as 
much  State  Churches  as  their  great  sister  of  Rome ; 
but  socially  the  difference  is  as  great  as  if  she  alone 
were  recognized  by  the  State.     The  Romish  clergy  have 
had  the  subtlety  and  skill  to  make  women  believe  that 
there  is  something  impious  in  other  religions.     There  is 
a 'very  general  impression  amongst  them  that  Protes- 
tants are  not  Christians,*  and  the  impression  is  so  far 
founded  on  fact  that  a  great  number  of  French  Protes- 
tants, being  really  Unitarians,  would  not  have  been  con- 
sidered Christian  by  Dr.  Arnold.     As  for  Jews,  the  old 
feeling  of  horror  against  them  still  survives  in  the  minds 
of  good  Catholic  women.      I  remember  an   amusing 
instance  of  this.     Four  young  gentlemen  from  a  great 
school  in  Paris  came  to  stay  a  few  days  with  me,  and 
were  invited  to  a  nobleman's  house  in  the  country,  where 
there  was  a  young  lady — a  model  young  lady  according 
to   French  ideas — with  all  the  proper  ignorances  and 
prejudices.     She  had  a  brother  who  was  struck  by  the 
idea  that  one  of  the  young  gentlemen  had   rather  a 
Jewish  face,  and  this  suggested  to  his  youthful  mind 
the  idea  of  getting  a  little  fun  out  of  the  situation.     He 
put  on  a  very  grave  face,  went  to  his  sister  and  told  her 
that  the  unfortunate  guest  was  really  a  Jew,  not  only  by 
*  In  Spain  this  impression  is  said  to  be  universal  by  those  who 
know  the  country,  and  as  it  is  not  corrected  by  the  clergy,  we  may 
fairly  conclude  that  they  have  no  objection  to  its  existence  ai 
a  pious  exaggeration  serviceable  to  the  true  faith. 


298  Disapproval  of  Protestantism. 

race  but  by  religion.  My  young  friends  were  invited 
for  several  days,  but  the  "Jew"  did  not  find  them  very 
enjoyable.  His  place  was  fixed  for  him  next  the  young 
lady  al  dinner,  but  when  he  sat  down  she  rose  with  an 
offended  air  and  went  as  far  off  as  possible,  asking  some 
one  else  to  take  her  chair.  Whenever  he  tried  to  speak 
to  her  she  turned  away  from  him  with  a  look  of  horror. 
There  were  dances  in  the  evenings ;  he  asked  her  to 
dance,  she  refused  point-blank,  without  even  the  usual 
form  of  politeness.  This  lasted  three  days.  On  the 
fourth,  seeing  that  she  maintained  the  same  attitude  of 
repulsion,  he  determined  to  ask  for  an  explanation,  and 
did  so  in  plain  terms.  "  Little  explanation  is  neces- 
sary," said  the  young  lady,  "  how  is  it  possible  for  me  to 
associate  with  one  who  has  crucified  my  Saviour?"  "I 
cannot  tell  what  you  mean,  I  never  crucified  anybody." 
"  You  are  a  Jew,  and  it  is  you  Jews  who  did  it !" 

There  is  a  way  of  pronouncing  words  which  implies 
moral  disapprobation,  even  when  the  word  is  used  by 
itself  quite  simply.  The  French  word  "  Protestant," 
which  looks  so  exactly  like  the  English  word,  is  usually 
uttered  in  Roman  Catholic  families  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  convey  such  a  sense  of  disapproval  that  it  becomes  a 
word  of  reproach  ;  and  young  ladies,  being  sensitive  and 
observant,  are  thus  brought  to  associate  Protestantism 
from  their  infancy  with  the  things  which  are  not  right. 
There  is  another  well-known  device  by  which  an  asso- 
ciation of  ideas  may  be  created  which  is  sure  to  be 
unfavourable  to  a  proscribed,  or  half-proscribed  opinion. 
It  may  be  spoken  of  along  with  something  which  is 
known  to  be  bad,  as  if  the  two  went  necessarily 


Protestantism  and  Vice.  299 

together.     Thus  you  may  easily  convey  the  impression 
that  unbelievers   are   bad    men    by  coupling   together 
"  vice  and  infidelity,"  and  if  after  that  you  say  "  Protes- 
tantism and  infidelity,"  you  will  convey  the  idea  that 
Protestantism  and  vice  have  a  very  near  relationship. 
I   remember  reading  a  book  by  a  French   bishop  in 
which  he  stoutly  maintained  that  Protestantism  sprang 
entirely  from   the   desire   to   indulge  vicious  passions 
which  the  Church  condemned.     This  was  not  quite  true 
or  just,  but  I  had  a  book  by  an  English  theologian  in 
which  exactly  the  same  was  said  of   freethinking,  and 
we  must  remember  that,  to  a  Romanist,  Protestantism,  in 
all  its  varieties,  is  but  one  of  the  forms  of  freethinking. 
There  are  certain  arts  by  which  a  dominant  Church 
may  keep  the  weaker  churches  in  an  inferior  social  posi- 
tion, without  any  visible  persecution.     Here  are  one  or 
two  instances  of  it  in  little  things.     A  few  years  ago  it 
was   still   the   custom    in  a  great  many  lyceums  and 
colleges  to  give  the  prizes  for  religious  instruction  with 
much  pomp  and  publicity  when  the  boys  were  Roman 
Catholics,  but  when    they  were  Protestants  the  prizes 
were  given  to  them  in  private,  without  solemnity  of  any 
kind.      It   is   astonishing   that   a   great   and   powerful 
Church  should  descend  to  such  little  things,  but  she  is 
acute  enough  to  perceive  that  nothing  is  beneath  her 
attention  which  can  exalt   herself  and  depress  her  in- 
feriors.    She  will  even  infringe  the  law  when  her  own 
importance  is  in  any  way  affected.     According  to  French 
law  it  is  not  possible  to  delegate  honours  ;  I  mean  that 
if  a  bishop  is  absent  and  is  represented  by  his  vicar- 
general,  the  latter  will  receive  only  the  honours  due  to 


300  Church  and  University, 

his  own  rank,  and  not  those  due  to  the  episcopal  rank, 
even  though  for  the  time  being  he  stands  in  the  place  of 
the  bishop.  The  principle  is  rigidly  carried  out  by  civil 
functionaries.  A  secretary-general  (de  prefecture)  may 
represent  a  prefect,  but  he  will  only  receive  the  honours 
of  a  secretary-general.  Well,  it  happened  in  1869  that 
a  certain  archbishop  was  absent  from  his  diocese  on  the 
day  when  prizes  were  distributed  at  the  lyceum.  He 
was  represented  by  his  vicar-general.  On  the  same 
occasion  were  present  the  presidents  of  the  Protestant 
and  Jewish  Consistories.  The  archbishop,  had  he  been 
present,  would  have  taken  precedence  of  these,  but  the 
vicar-general  could  not  legally  do  so.  However,  he 
insisted  upon  taking  precedence  notwithstanding  the 
law,  and  by  the  weakness  of  the  university  authorities 
he  gained  his  point.  A  certain  bishop,  whose  name  I 
know,  was  invited  to  a  distribution  of  prizes  some  years 
earlier  in  the  same  lyceum.  He  asked  what  place  he 
was  to  have,  and  was  answered,  "  The  place  assigned  to  a 
bishop  by  the  law,"  on  which  he  refused  to  come.  An 
archbishop  presented  a  candidate  for  the  post  of  chap- 
lain in  a  lyceum.  These  chaplains  are  presented  by 
the  ecclesiastical  authority  and  appointed  by  the  Minister 
of  Public  Instruction.  In  this  case  the  Minister  gave 
the  candidate  a  chaplaincy  of  the  third  class  The 
archbishop  protested,  and  demanded  the  second  class 
for  his  candidate.  "  I  cannot  give  it  him,"  replied  the 
Minister,  "  it  is  beyond  my  power  to  do  so,  the  law  for- 
bids me."  The  archbishop  insisted  with  great  perti- 
nacity in  spite  of  ths  rule,  and  during  the  correspon- 
dence the  lyceum  in  question  remained  without  a 


Protestantism  in  the  University.  301 

chaplain.  At  length  the  archbishop's  candidate  was 
appointed,  and  a  few  days  afterwards,  in  spite  of  the 
rules  quoted  by  the  Minister  himself,  he  was  promoted 
to  the  second  class.  The  influence  exercised  by  the 
episcopate  is  not,  as  may  be  imagined,  confined  to  help- 
ing their  own  friends ;  it  is  also  employed,  often  very 
efficaciously,  against  persons  whom  they  dislike  on 
account  of  their  nonconformity.  The  principal  of  a 
c?rtain  great  lyceum  was  a  Protestant ;  so  the  bishop  of 
the  diocese  used  his  influence  to  get  him  removed,  and 
succeeded.  An  "  Inspecteur  d'Acad^mie,"  was  a  Protes- 
tant, and  had  formerly  been  a  pastor.  Whilst  holding 
the  rank  of  "  Inspecteur,"  he  was  imprudent  enough  to 
resume  his  clerical  profession  to  some  extent,  for  he 
preached  a  few  sermons  in  a  Protestant  church.  This 
offended  the  bishop  of  the  diocese,  who,  like  the  one 
mentioned  above,  used  his  influence  to  get  the  Protestant 
removed,  and  succeeded.*  A  professor  of  philosophy 
in  a  lyceum  not  very  far  north  of  Lyons  wrote  some 
articles  on  the  Society  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul.  The 
clergy  found  out  that  he  was  the  author  of  these  arti- 
cles, and  had  power  enough  to  get  him  suspended.  On 
the  other  hand,  a  priest  published  a  little  book  very 
unfavourable  to  the  French  university,  and  particularly 
unfavourable  to  a  certain  college  of  which  he  was  him- 
self the  chaplain.  For  this  he  was  suspended  by  the 

*  These  anecdotes  are  all  perfectly  authentic,  and  I  have  in  my 
possession  the  names  of  the  persons  and  places,  even  to  the  name 
of  the  Protestant  church  where  the  sermons  were  preached.  I 
follow,  however,  my  usual  rule  of  withholding  names,  for  the  simple 
reason  that,  even  when  an  anecdote  is  quite  true,  it  may  cost  a  good 
deal  of  time  and  money  to  prove  the  truth  of  it 


302  Opposition  to  Clerical  Interference. 

Rector  of  the  academy  to  which  the  college  belonged, 
and  the  Minister  of  Public  Instruction  confirmed  the 
suspension.  The  bishop  of  the  diocese  met  this  by 
making  the  suspended  chaplain  a  canon  of  his  cathedral, 
and  refused  during  many  years  to  present  a  candidate 
to  succeed  him  in  his  chaplaincy,  which,  therefore,  neces- 
sarily remained  vacant.  Besides  this,  he  refused  to  go 
to  the  college  to  confirm  the  boys,  although  it  had 
always  been  the  custom  for  the  bishop  of  the  diocese  to 
do  so.  A  well-known  writer,  who  had  a  high  position  in 
one  of  the  great  professional  schools  of  Paris,  was  so 
imprudent  as  to  contribute  an  article  to  a  review  on  the 
subject  of  "  Catholicism."  Clerical  influence  was  power- 
ful enough  to  have  him  dismissed  with  a  small  "  indem- 
nity." The  "indemnity"  for  the  first  year  was  about 
£20.  In  successive  years  it  was  gradually  reduced,  and 
finally  came  down  to  nothing  at  all.  Happily  for  the 
ex-professor,  he  was  a  clever  writer,  and  was  accepted  as 
contributor  by  two  or  three  of  the  best  newspapers.  He 
has  been  a  journalist  ever  since. 

It  has  sometimes  happened,  but  rarely,  that  the  clergy 
have  been  met  by  a  decided  opposition  and  refusal,  even 
in  the  highest  quarters.  The  following  curious  little 
story  was  communicated  to  me  by  the  successor  of  the 
lay  functionary  whom  it  concerns.  In  a  certain  impor- 
tant lyceum  there  was  a  change  of  bursars.  The  new 
bursar  suffered  much  Horn  a  varicose  vein  in  his  leg, 
which  compelled  him  to  pass  a  great  deal  of  his  time  in 
an  arm-chair,  with  his  l^g  stretched  on  a  camp-stool. 
When  he  arrived  at  the  Vceum  for  the  first  time,  he 
met  a  priest,  and  at  once  concluded  that  he  must  be  the 


A   Chaplain  Defeated.  303 

chaplain.  On  this  the  following  little  conversation  took 
place  between  the  new  acquaintances  : — 

Bursar.  I  suppose  that  I  have  the  honour  to  speak  to 
the  chaplain  ? 

Chaplain.  Yes. 

Bursar.  I  am  the  new  bursar,  and  I  fear  that  you  will 
have  a  bad  parishioner  in  me.  My  infirmity  compels 
me  to  remain  quiet  as  much  as  possible,  and  I  shall 
be  unable  to  attend  the  services  in  the  chapel. 

Chaplain.  If  you  do  not  attend  I  give  you  warning 
that  I  will  have  you  dismissed. 

Bursar.  Since  that  is  the  tone  you  take,  I  promise  you 
that  you  will  never  see  me  in  your  chapel,  and  I  shall 
quietly  await  the  consequences  of  your  denunciation. 

The  chaplain  wrote  to  the  Minister  of  Public  Instruc- 
tion, who  at  that  time  was  M.  Duruy,  and  in  his  letfer 
he  appealed  to  a  statute  of  1821  which  obliges  all  who 
are  lodged  in  the  establishment  to  attend  chapel.  But 
the  Minister  answered  that  this  applied  only  to  function- 
aries who  had  the  direction  of  the  pupils,  and  that  the 
bursar  was  not  one  of  these,  since  his  duties  were  limited 
to  the  control  of  money  and  material ;  consequently,  in 
matters  of  religion,  the  bursar  ought  to  follow  his  own 
conscience.  The  answer  was  not  addressed  directly  to 
the  chaplain,  but  to  the  rector  of  the  academy  to 
which  the  lyceum  belonged ;  and  it  concluded  by 
requesting  the  rector  to  remind  the  chaplain  that  the 
principal  (Proviseur)  of  the  lyceum,  and  not  the  chap- 
lain, was  " seuljuge  de  la  conduite  dcs  fonctionnaires" 

A  few  vigorous  answers  of  this  kind  would  set  limits 
to  clerical  interference  in  university  matters,  but  they 


304  The  French  University. 

require  great  courage  on  the  part  of  a  Minister  of  Public 
Instruction,  for  if  once  the  Chuich  finds  out  that  he  is 
not  compliant  he  will  have  a  hard  time  of  it,  and  will 
be  unable  to  keep  his  post  for  long  unless  backed  by  a 
very  strong  and  determined  Liberal  Government,  such  as 
may  be  possible  in  the  future,  but  has  hardly  ever  yet 
been  seen  in  this  generation.  The  most  effective  resist- 
ance which  the  lay  party  have  as  yet  been  able  to 
oppose  to  the  sacerdotal  has  been  the  establishment  of 
the  University,  an  institution  which  is  generally  much 
undervalued  in  England,  and  very  unjustly.  It  always 
seems  to  me,  in  reading  English  criticisms  of  the  French 
University  (which  generally  take  the  form  of  sneers), 
that  the  writers  must  have  been  directly  under  the  influ- 
ence of  the  French  clergy,  who  dislike  the  University  as 
a  Tival  educator  of  youth.  It  is  surprising  how  easily 
those  views  of  things  in  France,  which  are  set  agoing 
by  the  Roman  Catholic  clergy  for  their  own  purposes, 
obtain  currency  in  a  Protestant,  or  at  least  non-Catholic, 
country  like  England.  The  French  clergy,  for  example, 
with  their  usual  extreme  cleverness  in  the  use  of  lan- 
guage, have  of  late  been  demanding  the  liberty  to  teach 
the  youth  of  their  own  persuasion,  and  what  can  be 
more  reasonable  than  that  ?  An  English  member  of 
Parliament  was  innocent  enough  to  say,  a  little  time 
since,  that  he  thought  the  liberty  to  teach  was  so  natural 
a  liberty  to  ask  for,  that  he  could  not  conceive  how  any 
political  party  could  refuse  it.  He  seems  really  to  have 
believed,  though  living  so  near  to  France,  that  "  la  libertt 
de  I  enseignment"  was  what  the  clergy  were  striving  for 
in  the  foundation  of  Catholic  Universities.  It  is  quite 


The  Church  as  a  Teacher.  305 

true  that  the  clergy  have  adroitly  made  use  of  that 
expression  "  la  liberte"  de  1'enseignment,"  but  they  pos- 
sessed that  liberty  long  before.  The  object  they  have 
striven  for  recently  was  not  the  liberty  to  teach,  but  the 
power  to  give  University  degrees,  as  they  liked,  to  good 
Catholic  young  men,  as  a  reward  for  diligent  attention 
to  priestly  teaching.  In  this  project  they  have  not 
quite  succeeded,  because  the  degrees  are  to  be  given  by 
mixed  boards  of  examiners  from  the  State  University 
and  the  Catholic  Universities.  Many  University  men 
regret  that  the  entire  power  to  grant  degrees  was  not 
accorded  to  the  priests  at  once,  for  if  it  had  been  their 
degrees  would  soon  have  been  appreciated  at  their  true 
value.  The  clergy  certainly  deserve  the  greatest  credit 
for  the  self-sacrifice  with  which  they  devote  themselves 
to  teaching.  Many  clerical  teachers  in  the  seminaries 
receive  no  pay  whatever,  and  there  are  orders  of  teach 
ing  priests  (the  Maristes  for  example)  who  when  ordered 
by  their  superiors  to  undertake  the  drudgery  of  school- 
work  will  do  it  unflinchingly  from  year's  end  to  year's 
end  without  any  other  reward  than  the  sense  of  duty 
accomplished.  All  this  is  very  admirable,  and  the 
clerical  institutions  are,  in  almost  every  instance,  models 
of  order  and  good  management,  with  excellent  buildings 
and  gardens.  The  pupils  are  not  a  source  of  profit, 
but  of  loss,  and  yet  the  Church  has  so  many  means  of 
acquiring  money  that  she  willingly  undertakes  the  most 
extensive  responsibilities.  The  one  thing  she  aims  at 
is  to  have  the  control  of  young  people's  minds.  She 
dislikes  parental  influence,  and  endeavours  to  detach 
young  people  from  it,  whenever  possible.  In  the  semi- 

X 


306  The  French  University 

nary  near  my  house,  the  pupils  are  not  allowed  to  visit 
their  parents  during  the  whole  scholastic  year.  By 
means  of  its  great  seminaries  and  colleges,  and  now  by 
means  of  the  new  Catholic  Universities,  the  Church  is 
energetically  endeavouring  to  crush  the  State  University, 
the  great  lay  establishment  whose  rivalry  she  dislikes 
above  all  things.  Many  intelligent  laymen,  both  in  the 
University  and  out  of  it,  think  that  the  Church,  so  far 
from  injuring  the  University,  will  render  her  the  ines- 
timable service  of  stimulating  to  self-improvement  an 
institution  which  might  have  crystallized  into  a  fixed 
system  of  routine  if  it  had  never  been  alarmed  by 
rivalry. 

I  have  just  said  that  English  criticism  was  generally 
unjust  to  the  French  University.  It  is  generally  contemp- 
tuous— inconsiderately  and  ignorantly  contemptuous. 
The  English  critic  either  compares  the  French  Univer- 
sity with  Oxford,  or  else  with  some  ideal  in  his  own 
imagination,  an  ideal  of  what  things  ought  to  be  but 
are  not,  either  in  France  or  anywhere  else.  Both  com- 
parisons are  alike  idle  and  unprofitable.  The  French 
University  has  seventy  thousand  undergraduates;  the 
object  of  it  is  not  to  polish  a  few  minds,  but  to  inform  a 
multitude.  It  is  not  seated  in  one  old  town  alone,  but 
has  its  colleges  all  over  the  country.  It  is  present  every- 
where, so  that  you  can  never  be  more  than  a  few  miles 
from  one  of  its  establishments.  It  will  teach  a  little 
child  to  read,  and  give  a  learned  scholar  his  doctor's 
degree.  It  is  entirely .  disinterested,  the  State  derives 
no  profit  from  it ;  it  puts  education  within  the  reach  of 
thousands  who  without  its  help  would  grow  up  in  per- 


Useful,  not  Ornamental.  307 

feet  ignorance,  or  with  no  higher  teaching  than  that  of 
the  village  school.  Mr.  Lowe  said  that  it  was  not  a 
University  at  all,  but  if  we  look  to  the  derivation  of  the 
word,  I  think  we  must  admit  that  few  educational  insti- 
tutions have  had  such  fair  claims  to  the  title.  The  name 
was  given  at  first  to  educational  bodies  which  were 
bound  together  in  unity;  and  even  English  critics,  little 
as  they  know  about  the  French  University,  are  well 
aware  that  it  has  unity,  for  they  are  always  laughing  at 
it  because  its  unity  is  too  perfect  for  their  taste.  I  have 
disposed  of  the  comparison  with  Oxford.  When  Oxford 
shall  educate  seventy  thousand  English  youths  at  once 
it  will  be  time  to  institute  such  a  comparison.  With 
regard  to  the  dissatisfaction  with  a  great  existing  insti- 
tution because  it  does  not  come  up  to  an  ideal  standard, 
I  beg  leave  to  offer  some  observations.  It  is  a  great 
thing  to  exist,  and  to  work,  and  a  wise  criticism  ought 
not  to  be  too  idealist  with  reference  to  things  which  are 
in  the  world  of  every-day  reality,  and  do  a  great  deal 
of  useful  labour.  Most  of  the  useful  work  in  the  world 
is  done  in  places  and  by  people  who  do  not  come  up  to 
the  artistic  or  intellectual  ideal.  Nobody  pretends  that 
the  French  University  is  an  ornamental  institution ;  it 
was  established  for  simple  utility,  and  it  is  maintained, 
though  not  illiberally,  at  the  lowest  cost  which  is  com- 
patible with  the  work  it  has  to  do.  There  are  no  mag- 
nificent incomes,  no  princely  residences  for  its  magnates, 
and  the  poorer  workers  in  it  labour  for  little  wage. 
Their  incomes  were  fixed  at  a  time  when  living  was 
cheaper  than  it  is  now,  and  it  would  be  simple  justice 
to  increase  them.  With  regard  to  the  buildings,  some 

X  2 


308  University  Buildings. 

of  the  older  ones,  though  large,  are  defective  in  their 
arrangements ;  the  new  ones  are  much  better,  and  some 
of  the  very  newest  arc  admirable  models  of  clever  con- 
struction for  their  special  purpose.  The  French  Univer- 
sity makes  no  pretension  to  wealth,  its  pride  is  to  do  the 
maximum  of  work  at  the  minimum  of  cost ;  still,  if  the 
sums  expended  on  all  its  colleges  and  lyceums  were 
added  together  they  would  make  a  very  formidable 
total.  A  new  lyceum  costs  from  thirty  to  eighty  thou- 
sand pounds,  which  is  a  large  sum  to  find  for  a  small 
provincial  town.  There  is  plenty  of  space  in  these 
buildings  for  the  convenience  of  teaching.  Every  class 
has  its  own  room,  generally  lofty  and  well-lighted,  and 
its  own  study,  in  which  work  is  prepared  for  the  class- 
room.* Every  lyceum  in  France,  and  I  believe  also 
every  college,  has  a  room  for  instruction  in  the  elements 
of  physical  science,  with  the  necessary  apparatus,  which 
in  many  cases  has  been  liberally  added  to  of  late  years. 
It  is  the  fashion  in  the  English  newspapers  to  repeat 
one  or  two  stock  accusations  against  this  University 
system.  They  delight  to  repeat  the  story  of  M.  Duruy, 
who  when  Minister  of  Public  Instruction  looked  at  his 
watch  and  said  that  he  knew  what  was  being  done  at 
that  hour  in  every  lyceum  in  the  country.  The  anec- 
dote is  true,  but  it  is  entirely  misunderstood  by  those 
writers  who  quote  it  to  exhibit  the  absurdity  of  the 
system.  M.  Duruy  had  been  preceded  by  another 
Minister,  Fortoul,  who  had  a  fancy  for  regulating  every- 

*  This  is  of  very  great  importance.  In  English  Grammar 
Schools  lessons  are,  or  were,  learned  in  the  same  room  in  which 
classes  were  held  at  the  same  time. 


Authority  of  the  Minister.  309 

thing  very  exactly,  and  Duruy's  observation  about  the 
watch  was  not  a  boast,  but  a  little  piece  of  "  malice " 
directed  against  what  he  considered  the  needlessly 
minute  rtglementation  of  his  predecessor.  The  English 
inference  that  because  a  Minister  knows  what  the  classes 
in  the  University  were  doing  at  a  particular  hour  the 
system  of  education  must  be  bad,  is  quite  unwarranted, 
for  the  fact  of  his  knowing  what  is  done  does  not  touch 
the  utility  of  the  teaching.  The  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury knows  exactly  what  chapters  of  the  Bible  are  read 
in  all  Anglican  churches  on  a  particular  Sunday,  but 
this  does  not  prove  that  the  chapters  are  not  worth  read- 
ing, or  that  they  are  read  badly.  English  critics  repre- 
sent French  University  teachers  as  mere  slaves,  who  have 
no  chance  of  making  their  own  individuality  an  influ- 
ence over  their  pupils.  The  assertion  is  grossly  and 
ignorantly  untrue ;  and  it  is  most  especially  untrue  as 
regards  the  higher  instruction  where  the  individuality 
of  the  teacher  may  be  brought  to  bear  with  more  advan- 
tage as  the  work  to  be  done  requires  a  more  constant 
exercise  of  thought.  It  is  said  that  education  in  France 
can  never  be  worth  anything  until  every  Principal  of  a 
college  has  full  liberty  to  do  exactly  what  he  likes  with- 
out being  directed  by  a  Minister  of  Public  Instruction. 
Perhaps  a  Principal  of  uncommon  discernment  would, 
with  fuller  liberty,  rise  above  the  present  level,  but  it  is 
equally  probable  that  many  others  of  inferior  talent  and 
energy  would  sink  below  it.  The  University  must  have 
a  central  authority  of  some  kind  or  it  would  cease  to  be 
a  University.  Some  heads  of  lyceums  and  colleges 
are  men  of  great  attainments,  but  on  the  whole  '•he  pro- 


jio  University  Education. 

bability  is  that  the  Minister  of  Public  Instruction  will 
be  superior  both  in  attainments  and  in  breadth  of  view 
to  the  average  master  of  a  lyceum.  With  a  single 
exception  this  has  certainly  been  true  of  recent  Minis- 
ters. The  fact  that  the  public  schools  are  bound  together 
in  an  organized  University  system  is  at  once  a  safe- 
guard and  a  convenience.  It  is  a  safeguard  against  the 
educational  hobbies  of  individual  masters,  and  it  is  a 
convenience,  because  a  boy  when  removed  from  one 
lyceum  to  another  may  continue  his  education  without 
a. break.  The  University  system  ensures  a  frequent  and 
severe  academic  inspection  of  public  schools,  which  pre- 
vents them  from  falling  below  a  certain  average  standard 
of  efficiency,  however  isolated  they  may  be,  and  how- 
ever remote  from  Paris. 

The  education  is  not  so  worthless  as  English  critics 
represent  it  to  be.  It  is  incomparably  superior  to 
English  middle-class  education,  unless  the  latter  has 
been  wonderfully  amended  during  the  last  few  years. 
Its  systematic  character,  and  the  steadiness  of  the  train- 
ing which  it  gives,  with  the  obligatory  bachelor's  degree 
at  the  end  for  all  who  enter  the  liberal  professions,  ensure 
the  advantages  of  a  known  method  and  a  settled  pur- 
pose. A  French  provincial  lawyer  or  surgeon  having 
worked  steadily  up  through  all  the  classes  to  his  bach- 
elor's degree,  and  taken  it,  is  a  better  trained  man  than 
the  English  provincial  attorney  or  surgeon  who  has  been 
to  a  grammar-school  and  passed  thence  to  the  office  or 
surgery  with  whatever  the  local  grammar-school  might 
give  him.  In  many  cases  the  bachelor's  degree  becomes 
an  incentive  to  a  higher  ambition,  and  the  young  lawyer 


Greatest  Evil  of  the  System.  3 1 1 

or  doctor  works  up  to  the  higher  academic  degrees.  I 
know  one  who  took  his  doctor's  degree  in  law,  his 
doctor's  degree  in  medicine,  and  his  doctor's  degree 
in  letters.  His  degrees  required  three  distinct  and  com- 
plete educations.  You  find  even  simple  village  attor- 
neys who,  thanks  to  the  University  system,  are  well- 
educated  men.  I  know  one  such  who  is  licencit  in  law 
and  licencit  in  science  at  the  same  time.  The  most 
extraordinary  instance  of  several  different  educations 
united  in  one  individual  which  ever  came  to  my  know- 
ledge was  that  of  a  priest  who  had  taken  his  doctor's 
degree  in  letters,  science,  law,  medicine,  and  theology. 
Not  one  of  these  degrees  is  honorary,  each  of  them  has 
to  be  won  by  passing  an  examination  which  severely 
tests  the  acquirements  of  the  candidate. 

A  vast  institution  which  thus  places  a  liberal  educa- 
tion within  the  reach  of  the  middle  classes  all  over  the 
country,  and  does  its  work  with  sustained  energy  year 
after  year,  deserves  more  discriminating  criticism  than 
the  blind  scorn  which  will  not  even  condescend  to 
examine  what  it  despises.  It  is  impossible  that  so  com- 
prehensive an  institution  should  be  ideally  perfect,  or 
should  satisfy  in  every  respect  the  excessive  exigencies 
of  specialists.  The  French  University  has  many  defects, 
the  education  which  it  gives  is  faulty  in  many  particulars, 
but  its  shortcomings  are  as  well  known  to  its  own  chiefs 
as  to  the  cleverest  of  foreign  critics.  The  one  great  evil 
of  the  system  is  an  evil  prevalent  in  modern  education 
everywhere.  Too  many  things  are  undertaken  for  all 
to  be  well  done,  and  there  is  a  deplorable  waste  of  time 
in  going  half-way  towards  several  things  when  it  is  mani- 


312  French,  Latin,   Geometry. 

festly  impossible  for  the  pupils  to  go  all  the  way.  "If 
they  never  arrive,"  as  Professor  Seeley  said  of  the 
majority  of  boys  in  England,  "  what  was  the  use  of  their 
setting  out  ?  That  a  country  is  prosperous  and  pleasant 
is  a  reason  for  going  to  it,  but  it  is  not  a  reason  for 
going  half-way  to  it.  If  you  cannot  get  all  the  way  to 
America,  you  had  better  surely  go  somewhere  else.  If 
you  are  a  parent,  and  think  that  your  son  is  not  fit  to 
go  to  Cambridge,  you  send  him  into  the  city  or  into  the 
army.  You  do  not  send  him  part  of  the  way  to  Cam- 
bridge ;  you  do  not  send  him  to  Royston  or  Bishop 
Stortford."  French  University  education  too  often  sends 
its  pupils  to  half-way  places  like  these.  But  in  some 
things  they  go  all  the  way.  The  University  renders  an 
immense  service  to  the  mental  life  of  the  nation  by 
insisting,  to  begin  with,  that  every  one  of  its  pupils  shall 
be  thoroughly  trained  in  accurate  French  speaking  and 
writing.  A  serious  endeavour  is  made  to  awaken  the 
attention  of  boys  to  the  literary  qualities  of  great  French 
authors.  In  this  way  the  French  University  really  does 
for  its  own  country  what  Professor  Seeley  wished  that 
English  schoolmasters  would  do  for  England — it  teaches 
the  native  language  and  opens  the  gates  of  the  native 
literature.  This  is  much  indeed,  it  is  more  for  culture 
than  a  foreign  tongue  half-learned,  especially  in  France, 
where  the  native  language  has  a  rich  and  elaborate 
grammar,  which  no  uneducated  person  ever  mastered. 
Besides  French,  the  University  teaches  Latin  with  much 
thoroughness,  and  the  consequence  is  that  a  vast  number 
of  Frenchmen  can  read  the  Latin  authors  without  any 
insuperable  difficulty.  Geometry  is  well  taught  from 


Too  many  Studies.  3 1 3 

good  modern  books  in  which  the  science  is  brought 
down  to  the  latest  date.  Having  mentioned  these  three 
things,  I  have  almost  exhausted  the  list  of  studies  which 
are  carried  out  in  any  thoroughness.  Greek  is  imper- 
fectly learned,  and  modern  languages  are  learned  more 
imperfectly  still.  In  history,  geography,  and  the  phy- 
sical sciences,  all  that  can  be  done  is  to  give  abridg- 
ments, which  are  accurate  so  far  as  they  go.  These 
limits  and  imperfections  are  due  chiefly  to  the  multipli- 
city of  subjects  attempted.  It  is  not  possible  for  a  boy 
to  learn  four  or  five  languages  and  as  many  distinct 
sciences,  all  at  the  same  time,  and  learn  them  all 
thoroughly.  A  grown  man  in  the  full  vigour  of  his 
intellect  could  not  do  it  even  if  he  took  the  keenest 
interest  in  every  one  of  his  subjects.  He  would  find 
himself  compelled  to  throw  over  the  majority  of  his 
subjects  until  he  had  mastered  one  or  two,  after  which 
he  might  take  up  one  or  two  others,  if  life  were  long 
enough.  Why  does  not  the  University  act  in  this 
rational  manner  ?  The  answer  is,  that  although  the 
University  is  a  great  State  establishment,  it  must  have 
pupils  in  sufficient  numbers  to  form  classes,  or  it  could 
not  exist  To  have  pupils,  it  must  offer  attractions. 
The  majority  of  living  parents,  never  having  really 
learned  anything  themselves,  fancy  that  the  more  things 
are  taught  the  more  they  get  for  their  money.  It  is  a 
most  mischievous  and  foolish  error,  but  it  exists  amongst 
uncultivated  parents  everywhere,  simply  because  the 
uncultivated  mind  has  not,  and  cannot  have,  the  faintest 
conception  of  the  time  and  labour  required  for  the 
mastery  of  any  single  intellectual  pursuit.  New  tasks 


314  Clerical  Criticism. 

are  laid  on  the  shoulders  of  the  boys,  but  the  old  tasks 
are  not  removed  to  make  room  for  the  new  ones.  The 
burden  is  too  great,  the  hours  of  labour  are  too  long, 
the  burden  oppresses  the  mind  instead  of  strengthening 
it,  except  in  those  rare  cases  when  the  natural  faculties 
are  so  strong,  and  so  elastic,  and  so  agile,  that  they 
develop  themselves  happily  notwithstanding.  The 
Principal  of  a  French  college,  himself  a  good  Greek 
scholar,  told  me  that  he  wished  he  could  get  rid  of 
Greek  in  his  college  unless  some  other  studies  were 
thrown  overboard.  Unfortunately,  you  cannot  get  a 
bachelor's  degree  by  thoroughly  learning  two  things, 
but  you  can  easily  get  a  bachelor's  degree  by  the  aggre- 
gate of  marks  which  results  from  imperfectly  learning  a 
dozen  things. 

This,  I  believe,  is  a  fair  account  of  the  real  merits  and 
defects  of  French  University  education.  Wherever  too 
much  is  attempted  the  deficiencies  will  be  the  same,  and 
too  many  things  will  always  be  attempted  by  educators 
until  fathers  and  mothers  are  wise  enough  to  perceive 
that  things  half-learned  are  useless.  One  common 
clerical  accusation  remains  to  be  considered.  It  is  con- 
stantly asserted  that  the  University  is  irreligious  because 
it  is  not  exclusively  Catholic,  but  admits  Protestants, 
Jews,  and  Mahometans,  with  the  right  to  follow  their 
own  faith.  A  great  lay  institution  could  hardly  do 
otherwise,  in  this,  than  model  itself  upon  the  conduct 
of  the  State  to  which  it  belongs.  The  State  is  not 
exclusively  Catholic,  neither  is  the  University.  Still, 
the  Church  of  Rome  has  by  far  the  largest  share  in  the 
religious  teaching  of  the  University,  for  she  has  a  chapel 


Aristocratic  Objections.  315 


and  a  chaplain  in  every  lyceum  and  in  every  college. 
If  the  chaplains  have  not  so  much  influence  as  they 
would  like  to  have,  it  is  certainly  not  for  lack  of  oppor- 
tunity. The  real  ground  of  the  religious  objection  to 
the  University  is  that  the  masters  are  laymen,  and  do 
not  exclude  heretics. 

Aristocratic  criticism  has  its  own  objection  to  the 
University.  It  is  too  much  open  to  the  sons  of  poor 
men,  so  that  boys  are  not  brought  up  exclusively  in 
good  society.  Your  son  may  possibly  find  himself  in 
the  same  class  with  the  son  of  a  blacksmith.  This 
objection  is  very  terrible  from  the  lady-mother's  point 
of  view,  but  the  consequence  of  the  mixture  is  not  so 
deplorable  as  might  be  expected.  The  blacksmith's  son 
often  sets  the  gentleman's  son  the  example  of  good 
conduct  and  hard  work,  which  is  well  worth  some  polish 
of  manner,  and  in  a  country  where  polite  forms  are 
universal,  social  differences  are  not  very  painfully  felt. 
The  advantage  of  the  mixture  is  certainly  great  in  after 
life.  Men  in  quite  different  classes  of  society  have 
studied  together  in  the  same  college  and  know  each 
other  really  well.  This  has  a  tendency  to  dissipate  the 
illusions  of  exclusiveness,  and  to  create  a  friendly  feel- 
ing between  classes,  of  which  France  has  the  greatest 
need.  One  of  my  young  friends  in  a  college  at  Paris 
told  me  that  in  his  class  there  were  boys  of  every  rank, 
including  even  royalty,  for  two  of  his  class-fellows 
belonged  to  a  princely  reigning  family  in  Eastern 
Europe,  others  belonged  to  noble  families,  and  others 
to  quite  poor  and  obscure  ones.  In  after  life  this  young 
man  followed  a  profession  which  brought  him  into  con- 


316  Democracy  in  the  University. 

tact  with  all  classes  of  society,  and  the  variety  of  his 
early  experience  was  of  use  in  preserving  him  from  two 
kinds  of  awkwardness — the  mauvaise  honte  which  cannot 
hold  its  own  in  the  presence  of  a  superior,  and  the  pride 
which  has  never  learned  how  to  communicate  rationally 
with  people  of  humble  rank.  In  this  way  the  Univer- 
sity has  done  good,  and  although  an  aristocratic  English- 
man would  object  to  it  as  too  democratic,  the  real  truth 
is  that  its  influence  is  an  antidote  to  the  worst  evils 
of  democracy,  for  it  constantly  tends  to  diminish  the 
envy  and  hatred  which  a  fierce,  ignorant,  and  excluded 
democracy  always  bears  to  the  more  privileged  classes. 
The  form  of  democracy  which  the  University  produces 
is  that  of  Jules  Simon  and  Thiers.  It  gives  poor  boys 
a  fair  chance  in  life  and  puts  them  quite  at  their  ease, 
never  making  them  ashamed  of  their  poverty  as  if  it 
were  a  crime,  and  at  the  same  time  it  takes  the  conceit 
out  of  rich  ones  without  needlessly  wounding  their  self- 
respect  A  French  lyceum  is  a  public  school  to  which 
a  working  man's  son  may  go  without  the  slightest  appre- 
hension that  his  parents  will  be  laughed  at  when  they 
come  to  see  him,  because  they  are  not  "  swells,"  and  yet 
a  rich  squire's  son  may  go  there  and  get  all  the  benefits 
of  emulation  without  any  sacrifice  of  caste.  Above  all, 
the  existence  of  so  many  large  public  schools  all  over 
the  country  saves  thousands  of  boys  from  the  dulness 
and  sluggishness  of  private  education,  and  gives  them  a 
fine  stimulus  to  active  work,  not  only  in  the  rank  they 
may  win  in  the  school  itself,  but  in  the  early  fame  which 
they  get  in  the  town  and  department  where  the  lyceum 
is  situated.  Everybody  takes  a  kindly  interest  in  the 


Ignotance  of  Frenchmen.  317 

successes  of  an  industrious  and  clever  lad.  The  public 
"  distribution  des  prix  "  is  faithfully  attended  by  all  the 
notabilities  of  the  place,  and  by  hundreds  of  other 
people  who,  with  astonishing  patience,  sit  hour  after 
hour  listening  to  tiresome  discourses  and  lists  of  classes. 
All  the  town  talks  about  the  most  successful  winners  of 
prizes,  and  for  several  days  afterwards  their  fathers  are 
congratulated  on  every  hand.  It  is  easy  to  laugh  at 
the  crowns  of  paper  oak-leaves  and  gilding,  at  the 
multiplicity  of  prizes,  at  their  slight  material  value, 
and  at  everything  else  in  these  ceremonies  which  has 
that  air  of  cheapness  for  which  the  English  mind 
has  such  an  intense  contempt ;  but  a  kindly  critic,  or 
even  a  just  one,  would  feel  more  disposed  to  rejoice 
in  an  occasion  which  awakened  emulation  amongst 
boys  and  friendly  feeling  amongst  men  of  all  classes 
in  society. 

Notwithstanding  the  incessant  action  of  the  Univer- 
sity in  disseminating  knowledge,  the  ignorance  of 
Frenchmen,  even  when  educated,  is  proverbial  in  Europe, 
especially  since  their  great  defeat,  which  has  lowered 
the  general  opinion  of  them  in  every  respect.  I  have 
talked  on  this  subject  with  men  of  many  nations,  and 
they  all  agreed  in  laughing  at  French  ignorance,  which 
indeed  is  often  truly  amazing.  It  is  due  in  great  part 
to  the  predominance  of  the  classical  system  in  educa- 
tion. This  system,  when  strong  enough  to  be  exclusive, 
has  in  every  country  the  effect  of  producing  a  contempt 
for  other  knowledge  rather  than  the  openness  of  the 
mind  which  would  willingly  receive  it.  "  There  may  be 
pretty  enough  things  in  your  English  literature,"  a  clas- 


318  Modern  Languages^  despised. 

sical  Frenchman  will  tell  you,  "  but  you  must  admit  thai 
a  boy's  time  is  far  better  occupied  in  studying  the  illus- 
trious models  of  Greece  and  Rome,  whose  immense 
superiority  is  incontestable."  "  It  is  possible  that  the 
Germans  may  have  some  clever  writers,"  another  will 
say;  "but  the  great  authors  of  antiquity  became  what 
they  were  without  knowing  German,  so  surely  we  may 
do  without  it  too."  Then  you  continually  meet  with  the 
classical  theory  that  Greek  and  Latin  are  a  training  for 
the  mind,  whereas  modern  languages  are  not  a  training 
for  the  mind,  but  only  valuable  for  a  low  kind  of  utility. 
The  head  of  a  college  told  me  that  he  knew  whether  a 
man  had  studied  the  classical  languages  or  not  by  merely 
looking  at  his  face,  so  visibly  did  they  develop  the 
human  intelligence.  There  is,  in  fact,  the  same  con- 
tempt for  modern  languages,  modern  science,  and 
modern  art,  as  that  which  existed  at  Eton  a  few  years 
ago,  and  a  French  gentleman  knows  about  as  much  of 
these  subjects  as  an  Etonian  of  the  last  generation. 
The  spirit  of  classicism,  which  leads  to  the  pedantic 
pride  and  learned  ignorance  of  a  Chinese  mandarin,  is 
one  of  the  most  formidable  obstacles  against  which  the 
spirit  of  liberal  culture  has  to  contend.  It  is  especially 
formidable  because  it  occupies  the  seats  of  learning 
themselves,  which  ought  to  be  centres  of  light.  It  is 
the  real  source  of  French  ignorance  in  the  upper  classes. 
Frenchmen  are  often  very  well  informed  about  Roman 
antiquity,  and  at  the  same  time  quite  ignorant  about 
the  present  condition  of  the  nations  which  surround 
them.  I  know  one  who  reads  Latin  nearly  every  day, 
and  never  opens  a  newspaper.  French  ambassadors 


English  Criticism  unfair.  319 

know  Latin,  but  they  do  not  know  the  languages  of  the 
countries  to  which  they  are  accredited. 

English  criticism  is  severe  on  Frenchmen  for  this 
ignorance.  I  do  not  deny  or  excuse  it,  but  I  think 
that  English  criticism  is  unfair  in  one  respect.  English- 
men seem  to  think  that  a  Frenchman  may  be  fairly 
expected  to  know  as  much  about  their  country  as  they 
know  about  his.  It  is  not  reasonable  to  expect  this 
from  him.  France  is  much  more  central  in  Europe 
than  England,  much  more  metropolitan,  being  at  the 
same  time  more  accessible  than  England,  and  more 
attractive,  in  the  opinion  of  Continental  nations,  who 
fancy  that  there  is  nothing  to  be  seen  in  England  except 
factories  and  forges.  For  us  to  be  angry  with  French- 
men because  they  know  little  about  our  country,  is  there- 
fore the  same  kind  of  mistake  as  that  of  a  citizen  ot 
Leeds  if  he  allowed  himself  to  be  angry  with  a  Lon- 
doner because  he  did  not  know  who  were  the  notabili- 
ties of  the  provincial  town,  or  what  were  the  names  ot 
its  streets.  But  there  is  another  reason  besides  this. 
The  history  of  France  has  been,  for  the  last  hundred 
years,  the  most  exciting  drama  that  the  world  has  ever 
beheld.  It  is  simply  impossible  to  avoid  taking  an 
interest  in  contemporary  French  history.  The  dullest 
and  most  sluggish  Englishman  or  Dutchman  is  roused 
when  he  hears  of  such  events  as  the  battle  of  Sedan, 
the  fall. of  the  Empire,  the  siege  of  Paris,  and  the  burn- 
ing of  the  Tuileries.  In  comparison  with  such  tre- 
mendous events  as  these,  what,  to  an  unconcerned 
foreigner,  can  be  the  interest  of  a  constitutional  crisis 
which  may  possibly  end  by  substituting  one  mild  and 


320         English  Ignorance  of  quiet  Countries. 

gentlemanly  Minister  for  another  ?  If  the  Emperor  of 
Germany  were  to  land  in  England  with  half  a  million 
of  men,  pillage  London,  burn  Windsor  Castle,  upset 
the  monarchy,  and  permanently  annex  Sussex  and 
Kent,  v/hilst  he  inflicted  a  fine  of  ^200,000,000  on  the 
British  Treasury,  Frenchmen  would  take  an  interest  in 
English  news.  No,  the  proper  and  fair  comparison  for 
an  Englishman  to  make  is  this.  He  should  think  of 
some  quiet  State  not  disturbed  by  tremendous  events, 
and  should  then  say,  "  Do  I  know  as  much  about  that 
State  as  Frenchmen  know  about  England?"  He 
should  think  of  Holland,  for  instance,  and  in  most 
cases  a  candid  self-examination  would  satisfy  him  that 
he  really  knew  nothing  whatever  about  Holland — neither 
its  language,  nor  its  recent  and  contemporary  history, 
nor  even  the  names  of  its  great  authors.  The  English 
are  intensely  ignorant  even  about  Switzerland,  which 
they  visit  so  frequently.  They  believe  Mont  Blanc  to 
be  a  Swiss  mountain,  and  there  is  not  one  tourist  in 
three  hundred  who  knows  anything  whatever  about 
Swiss  politics.  I  wonder  how  many,  out  of  the  thou- 
sands who  visited  the  country  last  autumn,  could  tell, 
if  asked,  what  was  the  name  of  the  President  of  the 
Federal  Council? 


321 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Analogy  between  a  "  Trap  Dike  "and  the  Roman  Hierarchy — 
Honours  given  to  a  French  Bishop — His  Triumphal  Entry 
into  his  Cathedral  City — His  splendid  Social  Position — Funeral 
of  a  Bishop — A  Working  Bishop — Anecdotes  of  him — His 
Lectures — Their  Effect  on  Men — French  Priests — Their  Love 
of  Good  Eating — Clever  and  Simple  Priests — Parish  Priests 
in  the  Country — How  Charitable  they  are  sometimes — 
Examples — Want  of  Intellectual  Culture  amongst  them — 
Popular  Stories  about  them — The  Priest  and  his  Goats — 
Attitude  of  the  Clergy  towards  Popular  Superstitions— A 
Ghost  Story — Harmony  between  the  Clergy  and  Rural  Ways 
of  Thinking. 

IT  is  a  great  mistake  to  push  analogies  too  far,  but  it 
sometimes  happens  that  an  analogy  is  so  perfect  that  it 
cannot  be  pushed  too  far.  A  singularly  perfect  one 
is  that  between  a  trap  dike  in  geology,  and  the  Roman 
hierarchy  in  French  society. 

When,  at  some  former  period  of  the  world's  history, 
fissures  have  occurred  in  the  strata  of  comparatively 
soft  rock,  they  have  often  been  filled  up  by  melted 
stone,  which,  like  iron  poured  into  a  mould,  consoli- 
dated as  it  cooled.  In  the  course  of  ages,  the  soft  strata 
round  about  it  were  often  gradually  washed  away,  and 
then  the  rock  which  had  been  melted,  being  of  a  harder 
nature,  was  not  washed  away  by  the  water,  but  remained 
in  its  original  shape,  like  cast  iron  when  the  matrix  has 
been  removed.  The  mass  which  remains  is  a  trap  dike, 

Y 


322  An  Analogy. 

In  the  French  social  system  of  the  middle  ages  the 
softer  strata  are  the  different  couches  sociales  of  lay 
society,  existing  on  the  hereditary  principle.  From 
top  to  bottom  there  were  deep  fissures  in  this  society, 
and  the  fissures  were  filled  up  by  something  entirely 
different,  by  the  ecclesiastical  society,  with  its  hierarchy 
existing  on  a  principle  opposed  to  heredity.  In  course 
of  time  the  softer  strata  have  been  gradually  washed 
away,  but  the  hard  casting  that  was  formerly  in  the 
fissure  now  stands  by  itself,  exactly  like  a  trap  dike. 

The  analogy  is  so  perfect  that  you  may  push  it  farther 
still.  In  geology  a  trap  dike  is  theoretically  supposed 
to  be  undirninished  by  the  erosion  of  water  when  the 
surrounding  strata  have  been  washed  away,  but  the  fact 
is  that  the  dike  itself  has  really  been  somewhat  dimin- 
ished also.  Still,  though  it  is  diminished,  we  see  its 
importance  much  more  clearly  than  before  the  removal 
of  what  surrounded  it. 

Here,  too,  our  analogy  holds  good,  for  although  the 
Roman  hierarchy  has  really  lost  some  of  its  positive 
weight  and  bulk  in  France,  it  has  gained  in  apparent 
weight  and  bulk  by  the  removal  of  the  great  and 
powerful  feudal  aristocracy  which  surrounded  it  in 
the  middle  ages. 

In  the  feudal  times  a  bishop  may  have  been  a  greater 
man  than  he  is  now,  if  you  measure  his  positive  bigness, 
but  in  those  times  there  were  neighbours  of  his,  great 
laymen,  who  surrounded  him,  and  prevented  his  bigness 
from  being  fully  seen.  Now  that  these  laymen  are  all 
reduced  to  mere  grains  of  sand,  the  bishop  strikes  us 
as  the  trap  dike  strikes  the  eye  of  a  geologist. 


Honours  given  to  a  French  Bishop.  323 

In  England,  where  some  traces  of  the  feudal  system 
still  remain  in  the  laity,  a  baron  is  addressed  as  "  your 
Lordship,"  and  a  duke  as  "  your  Grace."  In  France  no 
such  form  is  used  in  addressing  a  lay  nobleman.  Even 
his  servants  do  not  say  "  votre  Seigneurie,"  they  meiely 
say,  "Monsieur  le  Comte,"  &c.,  and  gentlemen  say 
simply,  ".  Monsieur."  But  what  a  contrast  when  you 
meet  a  bishop  !  You  must  call  him  "  Monseigneur,"  as 
if  he  were  a  prince  of  the  blood,  or  "  Votre  Grandeur," 
which  certainly  expresses  the  idea  of  greatness  more 
directly  than  any  other  form  of  address  which  human 
servility  ever  invented. 

In  these  times  even  Royalty  lays  aside  some  of  the 
insignia  of  its  pride,  and  takes  its  part  in  ordinary  life 
without  visible  distinction.  You  are  not  likely  ever  to 
see  a  King  with  a  crown  on  his  head  and  a  sceptre  in 
his  hand,  but  you  may  possibly  see  one  in  a  tourist's 
suit  and  a  wide-awake.  A  French  bishop,  however,  still 
wears  the  mitre  which  is  his  crown,  and  the  crozier 
which  is  his  sceptre,  and  a  dress  of  silk  and  gold,  and 
diamonds,  and  rubies,  and  sapphires. 

The  honours  given  to  a  French  bishop  are  so  intoxi- 
cating that  if  he  becomes  pfoud  and  arrogant  what 
reasonable  person  can  blame  him  ?  His  social  position 
is  really  sublime  in  its  grandeur.  It  might  be  seriously 
maintained  that  in  some  important  respects  it  is  higher 
than  that  of  any  prince  who  is  not  a  reigning  sovereign. 
He  certainly  gets  more  worship  than  the  Duke  of 
Connaught,  or  the  Duke  of  Edinburgh,  and  he  is  more 
independent  of  the  law  than  the  Prince  of  Wales  him- 
self. Our  Princes  are  not  half-divine,  they  are  gentle- 

Y  2 


324  Honours  given  to  a  French  Bishop. 


men  of  high  rank  who  do  what  other  gentlemen  do, 
who  shoot,  and  smoke,  and  go  to  theatres  and  races,  and 
whose  most  serious  occupations  are  still  of  a  secular 
character.  They  are  very  popular,  very  much  liked, 
but  not  at  all  above  criticism.  A  French  bishop  has 
the  prestige  of  this  world  and  the  prestige  of  the  other 
world  at  the  same  time.  The  proper  attitud.6  towards 
him  is  that  of  the  most  humble  veneration.  To  criticize 
a  bishop,  in  good  society,  would  be  thought  abominable, 
almost  an  outrage.  You  cannot  even  mention  him 
without  speaking  of  him  as  your  lord.  To  say  simply 
"the  bishop"  is  not  enough,  and  the  bare  word  by 
itself  is  never  used  by  good  Catholics,  who  always  say, 
"  Monseigneur."  The  right  tone,  in  speaking  of  the 
bishop  of  the  diocese,  is  to  attribute  to  him  all  possible 
perfections.  This  is  done  to  a  surprising  degree  in  the 
case  of  a  new  bishop.  Some  humble  priest,  whom 
nobody  cared  about,  is  suddenly  elevated  to  the  episco- 
pate, and  in  the  course  of  a  single  week  the  whole 
diocese  will  be  filled  with  joy  and  astonishment  that  so 
many  virtues  can  be  found  together  in  the  same  man. 
This  belief  in  the  extraordinary  moral  qualities  of  pre- 
lates makes  their  social  position  shine  with  a  much 
purer  radiance  than  that  of  Princes,  of  whom  people 
generally  tell  scandalous  stories.  Bishops  are  also 
credited  with  great  intellectual  qualities  whenever  they 
enter  the  arena  of  controversy  so  far  as  to  condemn 
heresy  in  a  sermon  or  a  book. 

When  a  priest  is  first  appointed  to  an  episcopal  see 
he  is  expected  to  make  a  triumphal  entry  into  his 
cathedral  city,  and  when  several  sees  are  united  in  one 


Triumphal  Entry.  325 


he  has  a  triumph  in  each  of  the  great  cities  of  his 
diocese.  The  honours  which  a  bishop  receives  on  these 
occasions  are  fully  equal  to  those  rendered  to  the 
sovereign  of  a  monarchical  country.  His  Grandeur  is 
received  at  the  railway  station  by  the  Prefect  and  all 
the  civil  and  military  authorities,  by  all  his  clergy,  by 
all  the  schools,  by  all  the  religious  houses  which  are 
not  cloistered.  He  is  robed  by  reverent  hands  in  his 
full  pontificals.  He  goes  to  the  cathedral  in  a  gorgeous 
procession.  All  along  the  route  the  streets  are  deco- 
rated with  flags  and  wreaths.  Huge  garlands  swing 
across  from  the  opposite  houses.  The  soldiers  present 
arms.  The  cannon  thunder.  All  ordinary  business 
is  suspended.  Through  a  bare-headed  respectful  multi- 
tude the  procession  winds  its  way  slowly  to  the  cathe- 
dral, banner  after  banner,  troop  after  troop  of  the 
faithful,  the  new  bishop  blessing  as  he  goes.  He  enters, 
the  huge  bells  shake  the  towers,  and  then  all  the  pomp 
and  all  the  splendour  of  architecture,  vestments,  ritual, 
all  the  influences  of  music,  all  the  art  and  skill  of  the 
most  consummate  histrionic  arrangements  are  em-' 
ployed  to  give  the  utmost  conceivable  importance  to 
that  one  man  as  he  sits  for  the  first  time  on  his  high 
throne,  under  a  canopy  of  plumes  and  velvet,  magni- 
ficent as  a  Mikado,  and  yet  visible,  which  the  Mikados 
of  old  Japan  were  not.  Silver  censers  are  swung  before 
His  Grandeur,  and  the  sweet  intoxicating  perfume  of 
the  frankincense  rises,  grateful  to  his  nostrils.  From 
that  day,  to  the  end  of  his  life,  he  will  never,  in  his 
waking  hours,  put  off  the  dress  or  lay  aside  the  dignity 
of  a  prelate.  An  Emperor  may  forget  his  rank  when 


326  Splendid  Social  Position 


he  walks,  dressed  like  a  country  gentleman,  about  his 
parks  and  farms,  but  a  bishop  has  always  a  bishop's 
costume  and  that  decided  episcopal  demeanour  which 
permits  no  one  to  take  him  for  anything  less  than  what 
he  is.  His  Grandeur  has  a  permanent  court,  and  the 
very  phrases  used  in  speaking  of  him  have  a  courtly 
sound.  Thus  a  bishop  does  not  receive  a  visit,  that 
is  not  the  phrase,  he  "  grants  an  audience."  The  house 
he  lives  in,  which  is  sometimes  magnificent,  and  always 
spacious,  is  called  a  palace,  just  as  his  gilded  chair  in 
the  cathedral  is  called  a  throne.  People  kneel  to  him, 
as  if  he  were  a  king,  to  receive  his  episcopal  blessing. 
He  is  such  a  very  great  personage  that  the  Minister  of 
Public  Worship,  who  is  his  legal  superior  and  can  give 
him  orders,  dare  not  venture  to  do  anything  of  the 
kind,  unless  by  begging  the  Pope  to  give  the  desired 
command,  and  when  the  Minister  writes  to  the  bishop  it 
is  in  forms  of  humility  and  veneration.  Even  the  Chief 
of  the  State  himself,  though  he  be  an  Emperor,  as 
Louis  Napoleon  was,  cannot  control  a  bishop  who 
chooses  to  set  him  at  defiance.  The  utmost  punish- 
ment that  can  be  inflicted  upon  a  prelate  for  disobeying 
the  civil  power  is  an  expression  of  disapproval,  which 
does  not  affect  him  in  the  least  or  tarnish  one  jewel  in 
his  mitre.  He  enjoys  the  utmost  license  of  language ; 
he  may  say  in  public  that  your  opinions  are  held  by  you 
from  a  desire  to  indulge  carnal  passions,  and  you  have 
no  redress ;  but  if  you  speak  disrespectfully  of  his  opin- 
ions, he  can  have  you  put  in  prison  for  "  outrage  against 
the  religion  of  the  State."  All  books  approved  by  him 
circulate  freely,  even  though  they  may  contain  the  most 


Power  of  the  Bishops. 


unjust  and  calumnious  attacks  against  large  bodies  of 
his  fellow-citizens  ;  but  when  a  book  displeases  him, 
as,  for  example,  Mr.  Gladstone's  recent  writings  about 
Vaticanism,  the  bishop  has  influence  enough  with  the 
Government  to  have  its  circulation  restrained  by  with- 
holding the  hawker's  stamp.  His  power  over  his  own 
clergy  is  great  indeed,  and  all,  except  the  curfa  de  canton, 
who  are  inamovibles,  have  good  reason  to  be  afraid  of 
him.  Their  rank  in  the  world,  relatively  to  his  own,  is 
like  the  rank  of  a  common  soldier  relatively  to  that  of  a 
colonel,  so  great  are  the  distinctions  of  the  hierarchy. 
He  lives  thus  in  splendour  *  and  dignity,  as  well  as  real 
power,  until  the  day  comes  when  the  crozier  falls  from 
the  dying  hand.  The  funeral  of  a  French  prelate  is 
one  of  the  most  imposing  sights  that  can  be  imagined. 
It  answers  to  his  public  entry  into  his  cathedral  city. 

*  It  may  be  objected  that  a  French  bishop  cannot  live  in  splen- 
dour because  his  income  is  too  small.  His  official  income  is  only 
a  few  hundreds  a  year,  but  it  is  doubled  or  tripled  by  extras,  and 
his  court  is  not  maintained  at  his  expense,  except  his  private  ser- 
vants. It  must  be  remembered,  too,  that  he  is  always  a  bachelor, 
and  that  his  house  is  rent  free,  and  furnished.  His  splendour, 
however,  is  rather  sacerdotal  than  worldly,  and  sacerdotal  splen- 
dour can  be  kept  up  without  much  running  expense  when  once  the 
first  expenditure  for  jewellery  and  costumes  has  been  incurred,  as 
the  costumes,  unlike  those  of  a  king's  household,  are  not  affected 
by  changes  of  fashion.  The  most  expensive  things  that  a  bishop 
wears  are  often  given  to  him  by  his  admirers.  When  he  has  a  pri- 
vate fortune  he  often  lays  out  large  sums  in  sacerdotal  vestments 
and  ornaments.  The  full-dress  costume  of  a  French  bishop  may 
easily  cost  thousands  of  pounds.  I  know  by  sight  a  bishop  who 
gave  ,£1,200  for  a  mitre,  and  he  was  not  a  very  rich  man.  I  know 
another  by  sight  who  had  a  cross  given  to  him  to  hang  from  his 
neck,  and  it  cost  £600.  There  is  room  for  endless  expense  in  vest- 
ments if  a  bishop  has  the  means  to  indulge  in  it 


328  Funeral  of  a  Bishop. 

Because  he  is  a  State  official,  the  civil  and  military 
authorities  join  the  great  ecclesiastical  demonstration, 
and  all  the  gentry  of  the  country  round  about  come 
crowdirg  into  the  city  the  night  before.  As  his  trium- 
phal entry  was  the' expression  of  the  Church's  gladness, 
so  his  exit  by  the  gate  of  death  is  the  occasion  for  the 
utmost  manifestation  of  her  sorrow.  Then  she  com- 
posed her  visible  poem  of  rejoicing,  and  now  she  com- 
poses her  other  poem  of  sadness  and  deep  grief.  Like 
Milton,  she  has  her  Allegro  and  her  Penseroso. 

Once  buried,  a  bishop  is  forgotten  with  the  most 
surprising  rapidity,  unless  he  has  left  some  remarkable 
book  behind  him,  or  established  some  great  foundation. 
All  those  extraordinary  virtues  and  abilities  which  were 
attributed  to  him  when  he  took  the  mitre  are  trans- 
ferred, with  the  mitre  to  his  successor,  who  invariably 
excites  the  enthusiasm  of  all  good  Catholics  in  the 
diocese.  The  new  bishop  effaces  the  long  line  of  his 
predecessors  as  to-day's  newspaper  effaces  all  that  have 
gone  before  it.  A  living  bishop  is  continually  spoken 
of,  a  dead  one  hardly  ever;  or  if  by  chance  a  dead  one 
happens  to  be  mentioned,  it  is  with  a  little  air  which 
seems  to  say  that  his  day  of  greatness  belongs  alto- 
gether to  the  past. 

This  sketch  of  the  episcopal  dignity  as  it  strikes  the 
eye  of  'an  outsider  by  its  external  state  and  grandeur, 
might  be  in  some  respects  misleading  if  it  were  not 
corrected  by  the  observation  that  a  prelate  may  be 
really  humble  in  spite  of  them,  for  he  inherits  these 
external  things  from  long-established  customs.  It  is 
quite  conceivable  that  a  prelate  may  like  to  govern  a 


A    Working  Bishop.  329 


diocese  with  the  view  of  doing  as  much  good  as  he  can 
in  it,  and  yet  not  like  the  excessive  prominence  given 
to  his  person,  and  the  excessive  homage  which  he 
receives.  There  is  one  not  many  miles  from  my  house 
who  tries  to  realize  what  may  have  been  the  earliest 
and  purest  ideal  of  a  bishop,  and  who,  I  think,  will  not 
be  so  soon  forgotten  as  men  in  his  station  generally  are. 
He  is  singularly  and  wonderfully  unworldly,  absolutely 
careless  of  those  arts  by  which  an  exalted  position  is 
defended  and  maintained,  rightly  disdainful  of  trifles 
and  of  the  time-wasting  ceremonies  of  society,  always 
ready  to  give  time  and  strength  to  real  work  that  may 
lead  to  good,  and  to  payer  de  sa  personne  when  an  indo- 
lent prelate  would  either  do  nothing  or  send  a  substi- 
tute. A  young  man  I  knew  was  dying  of  consumption. 
He  was  very  religious,  and  in  his  last  hours  had  a  wish 
to  possess  some  little  thing  that  had  been  blest  by  the 
Pope.  The  priest  who  attended  him  had  nothing  of 
the  kind,  but  reflected  that  as  the  bishop  had  lately 
been  at  Rome  he  was  the  right  person  to  apply  to.  So 
the  priest  went  and  told  his  story.  Before  he  had  men- 
tioned the  name  of  the  young  man  the  bishop  had  put 
his  hat  on  and  said,  "  I  will  take  it  myself  to  him  at 
once  ;  where  does  he  live  ?  Show  me  the  way."  As  it 
happened,  the  dying  youth  was  a  young  gentleman,  but 
he  might  have  been  in  the  humblest  rank.  The  bishop 
did  not  ask  who  or  what  he  was.  On  the  other  hand, 
great  ladies  were  rather  disappointed  because  this 
strange  prelate  gave  so  little  time  to  society.  When 
they  called  upon  him  he  had  the  air  of  a  busy  man 
unpleasantlv  interrupted,  and  they  said  that  he  was  ill- 


330  A    Working  Bishop. 


bred.  "  So  much  the  better,"  was  his  observation  ; 
"  that  is  just  what  I  want  them  to  think  ;  they  will 
waste  less  of  my  time."  "  Your  Grandeur  will  come  to 
my  drawing-rooms,"  said  one  grande  dame.  "  No,"  was 
the  frank  reply,  "  I  am  too  busy,  and  I  don't  much 
approve  of  drawing-room  priests,  or  dining-room  priests 
either ;  there  are  too  many  of  both  sorts."  One  rainy 
day  he  went  on  foot  to  a  convent,  and  when  he  left 
there  was  a  great  fuss  to  find  the  bishop's  umbrella. 
The  sisters  emulated  each  other's  zeal.  "  1  think  I  can 
find  it  better  than  you  can,"  he  said  with  a  smile,  and 
fished  up  an  old  cotton  one.  Every  ladies'  priest  has  a 
silk  one,  as  a  matter  of  course,  so  the  sisters  had  been 
misled  by  the  material.  Some  amusing  stories  of  his 
kindly  ways  ran  about  the  diocese  and  made  friends  for 
him  amongst  reasonable  people,  whilst  they  earned  for 
him  the  grave  disapproval  of  proud  and  stuck-up  people, 
who  believe  in  artificial  dignity.  One  day  he  passed 
a  tanner's  yard,  thought  he  should  like  to  see  the  pro- 
cesses of  the  unsavoury  trade,  and  so  entered  and  talked 
familiarly  with  the  workmen.  On  leaving  he  gave  them 
twenty  francs  to  drink,  which  was  much  blamed  by  evil 
tongues  as  an  encouragement  to  inebriety,  but  he  accom- 
panied his  present  with  the  following  little  speech  : 
"  This  is  to  drink  the  bishop's  health,  and  now  let  me 
tell  you  how  a  bishop's  health  ought  to  be  drunk.  You 
must  not  go  and  drink  the  money  at  the  wine-shop  and 
leave  your  wives  all  by  themselves,  but  you  must  buy  a 
few  bottles  of  really  good  sound  wine  and  drink  it  in 
your  own  homes,  and  let  your  wives  have  their  fair 
share."  It  is  impossible,  I  think,  to  reprove  with  more 


Wise  Reproofs.  331 

\visdom,  tact,  and  kindness,  the  besetting  sin  of  the 
onvrier,  which  is  to  leave  his  wife  alone  whilst  he  drinks 
in  the  public-house.  On  the  other  hand,  the  bishop  has 
the  rare  courage  to  reprove  with  some  severity  the  ten- 
dency to  a  trifling  exercise  of  the  fancy  which,  espe- 
cially of  late  years,  has  so  much  invaded  the  Roman 
Catholic  worship.  Some  ladies,  aided  by  a  "ladies' 
priest,"  had  made  a  wonderful  mots  de  Marie  in  the 
cathedral  during  the  prelate's  absence.  On  his  return 
he  saw  this  mountain  of  flowers,  ribbons,  gilt  paper, 
vases,  and  other  trifles,  which  are  the  delight  of  French 
ladies  who  have  nothing  to  do.  One  glance  was  enough. 
"  Let  all  that  be  removed  at  once,"  he  said  ;  "  is  this 
place  a  theatre  ? "  I  rather  imagine  that,  if  he  had  his 
way  in  everything,  as  in  the  matter  of  those  flowers,  the 
apparatus  of  religious  ceremonial  would  be  simplified 
in  other  respects  also. 

Being  afflicted  by  the  presence  of  so  much  religious 
indifference  and  unbelief  in  his  diocese,  this  good  bishop 
set  to  work  manfully  to  convert  as  many  unbelievers  as 
he  could,  by  means  of  evening  lectures  in  the  cathedral. 
These  lectures  were  exclusively  for  men,  and  great 
numbers  of  the  unbelieving  sex  attended  them.  The 
average  congregation  may  have  been  about  twelve  hun- 
dred, all  belonging  to  the  middle  and  upper  classes. 
The  general  estimate  was  that  about  two  hundred  of 
these  would  be  good  Catholics,  and  the  remaining  thou- 
sand freethinkers  of  various  kinds,  mostly  deists.  The 
bishop  laid  a  regular  siege  to  rationalism,  in  the  tone  of 
a  man  who  knew  what  the  world  was,  and  would  not 
affect  to  be  shocked  by  a  fact  so  familiar  as  the  exist- 


332  Lectures  to  Unbelievers. 

ence  of  all  manner  of  heresies.  He  never  had  recourse 
to  denunciation,  never  rose  into  the  region  of  mysticism, 
but  spoke  in  a  very  clear,  direct  manner,  and  always 
admirably  well.  I  never  heard  more  perfect  elocution  ; 
indeed,  I  never  heard  any  orator  who  so  fully  realized 
my  notion  of  what  public  speaking  ought  to  be.  With 
the  most  beautiful  ease  of  delivery,  every  sentence  was 
constructed  in  such  pure  French  that  a  literal  report  of 
the  discourse  might  have  been  published,  without  cor- 
rection, in  a  book.  The  speaker  never  once  hesitated 
or  went  back  to  correct  himself,  and  every  syllable  was 
distinctly  heard  in  every  corner  of  the  cathedral.  This 
great  oratorical  charm  was  intensely  appreciated  by  the 
strange  congregation  there  assembled.  All  present 
listened  willingly,  and  went  again  and  again.  There 
were  even,  it  is  said,  a  few  conversions,  which  means 
that  some  men  were  induced  to  take  the  sacrament  who 
had  not  taken  it  for  a  long  time.  But  although  the  un- 
believers liked  to  hear  the  bishop,  and  both  admired  his 
oratory  and  esteemed  his  character,  they  used  to  say  in 
the  cafes,  when  the  evening's  lecture  was  over,  that  he 
had  left  matters  exactly  where  they  were,  and  had  not 
touched  the  real  question  between  the  laity  and  the 
Church.  The  bishop  had  undertaken  the  very  difficult 
Usk  of  converting  unbelievers  by  means  of  friendly 
reasoning,  that  is  to  say,  by  reasons  which  did  not  seem 
reasonable  to  them.  After  that,  nothing  is  left  for  a 
Roman  Catholic  bishop  but  an  energetic  affirmation  of 
the  authority  of  the  Church,  which  is  the  most  frank 
and  candid  method  he  can  use ;  so  why  not  use  it  from 
the  beginning  ?  Nobody  can  complain  of  him  for  say- 


French  Priests.  333 


ing,  "  These  are  the  dogmas  of  the  Church,  to  be 
rejected  at  your  peril  ;"  but  if  once  he  begins  to  reason, 
he  thereby  incites  others  to  reason  in  their  own  way, 
which  may  possibly  not  be  the  orthodox  way. 

It  has  been  my  fortune  to  know  a  good  many  French 
priests,  and  to  be  on  terms  of  intimacy — indeed,  I  may 
truly  say  friendship — with  two  or  three.  They  ar« 
generally  most  respectable  men,  devoted  to  their  work, 
living  contentedly  on  wonderfully  small  incomes,  and  as 
far  removed  as  possible  from  that  dissolution  of  manners 
which  did  so  much  to  discredit  the  Church  of  Rome  in 
England  in  the  times  immediately  preceding  the  Refor- 
mation. The  worst  fault  they  have,  as  a  class,  is  too 
much  fondness  for  good  eating,  which  may  very  easily 
be  accounted  for.  Their  position  affords  them  very  few 
opportunities  for  any  kind  of  amusement  or  pleasure. 
They  wear  the  long  black  cassock  every  day  and  all 
day,  and  wherever  they  go  are  obliged  to  be  very  strict 
in  their  demeanour.  They  are  much  more  separated 
from  the  world  of  the  laity  than  a  clergyman  of  the 
Church  of  England  is.  They  may  not  enjoy  any  active 
out-door  pleasures  except  a  grave  kind  of  pedestrianism  ; 
they  may  not  go  to  the  caft  to  play  billiards  as  laymen 
do,  and  yet  they  have  no  domestic  enjoyments  except 
a  book  by  the  solitary  fireside  of  the  presbyth'e,  and  per- 
haps a  secret  pipe  or  a  pinch  of  snuff  from  time  to  time. 
We  must  remember,  too,  that  the  priest  is  often  really  a 
hungry  man.  He  cannot  say  mass  if  he  has  eaten  any- 
thing— the  laws  of  the  Church  forbid  it — and  after  mass 
he  often  has  other  work  to  do  which  postpones  the 
hour  of  dejetmer.  Then  there  are  fast-days  and  the 


334  Clever  and  Simple  Priests. 

long  Lent  season,  which  an  earnest  priest  observes  with 
the  greatest  strictness.  Now,  it  seems  to  be  an  inevit- 
able law — the  law  of  reaction,  the  swing  of  the  pendulum 
— that  all  who  fast  well  feast  well  when  opportunity  offers. 
We  have  seen  the  operation  of  this  law  in  the  case  of 
the  peasantry.  The  priests  are  like  the  peasants  in 
this,  except  that  they  are  careful  not  to  get  tipsy,  which 
the  lay  peasant  is  not.  It  is  perfectly  well  known,  all 
over  France,  that  if  a  priest  is  asked  to  dinner,  the  din- 
ner is  sure  to  be  a  good  one.  The  priests  are  pets  of 
ladies  who  take  good  care  that  they  shall  be  well  fed. 
Gourmands  who  are  not  in  orders  always  like  to  meet 
the  clergy  on  that  account.  When  the  black  cassock 
makes  its  appearance  the  lay  gourmand  is  content,  and 
says  to  himself,  "  We  are  sure  of  a  good  feed."  There 
is  something  really  surprising  in  the  clerical  appetite  on 
these  occasions,  and  in  the  keen  gastronomic  enjoyment 
which  is  visible  on  the  clerical  countenance.  One  result 
of  it  is  pleasant  to  everybody.  As  the  priest  at  table  is 
the  happiest  of  men,  so  he  is  one  of  the  most  polite  and 
agreeable.  If  to  his  good-humour  he  can  add,  as  some- 
times happens,  the  charms  of  wit  and  culture,  his  society 
becomes  perfectly  delightful. 

Priests  may  be  broadly  divided  into  two  classes,  the 
clever  and  the  simple.  The  clever  priest  usually  lives 
in  a  town,  and  confesses  great  ladies  ;  the  simple  priest 
lives  in  a  country  village,  and  hears  the  wearisome  con- 
fessions of  the  peasants'  wives  and  daughters.  The  first 
is  sometimes  a  finished  man  of  the  world,  who,  were  he 
placed  in  the  position  of  a  Mazarin,  a  Richejieu,  or  an 
Antonelli,  might  easily  be  the  diplomatist  or  statesman  • 


Parish  Priests  in  the  Country.  335 

the  second  tends  rather  to  the  saintly  than  the  intel- 
lectual life,  and  sometimes  does,  indeed,  almost  realize 
the  difficult  ideal  of  Roman  Catholic  sanctity.  The 
contrast  between  the  two  lives  is  great  indeed.  The 
fashionable  confessor  passes  half  his  time  in  drawing- 
rooms,  and  his  own  sitting-room  is  like  the  boudoir  of  a 
grande  dame,  with  all  sorts  of  biblos,  vases,  engravings, 
candelabra,  bouquets  of  flowers,  pretty  needlework,  and 
beautifully  bound  books  ;  the  poor  curtde  campagne  lives 
in  a  small  cottage,  which  may  be  worth  a  rental  of  five 
pounds,  with  one  old  ugly  servant  and  a  few  pieces  of 
meagre  furniture.  I  well  remember  visiting  quite  re- 
cently, in  the  course  of  a  pedestrian  excursion  with  a 
party  of  friends,  a  curious  little  village  perched  on  the 
very  crest  of  a  steep  hill  1,500  feet  high.  There  was  an 
interesting  Romanesque  church,  and  service  was  going 
on  when  we  entered  it.  At  the  close  of  the  service  the 
curt  began  catechizing  and  instructing  a  class  of  chil- 
dren, but  he  very  kindly  sent  a  man  to  us  to  say  that  if 
we  would  go  and  rest  ourselves  in  the  presbythe  he 
would  join  us  when  his  work  was  over.  His  home  was 
quite  a  poor  man's  cottage,  without  the  least  pretension 
to  comfort  Another  messenger  came  from  the  curt  to 
say  how  much  he  regretted  not  to  be  able  to  offer  us  a 
glass  of  wine  after  our  ascent  of  the  hill,  but  he  had  no 
wine  in  the  house.  An  English  reader  will  realize  with 
difficulty  the  degree  of  destitution  which  this  implies  in 
a  wine-producing  country  like  France,  where  common 
wine  is  not  looked  upon  at  all  in  the  light  of  a  luxury, 
but  is  considered,  except  by  the  frugal  peasants,  a  part 
of  necessary  food.  "We  are  expecting,"  his  servant 


3  3  ^  Self -den  ial. 

said,  "a  little  cask  of  white  wine  from  the  low  country, 
but  it  is  a  long  time  in  reaching  us."  One  of  us  ob- 
served that  the  cure"  must  be  very  hungry,  for  we  knew 
that  he  had  eaten  nothing  yet,  as  he  had  said  mass,  and 
we  thought  he  would  have  done  better  to  get  his  dejeuner 
before  teaching  the  children.  "  This  is  his  dejeuner? 
the  woman  said,  lifting  a  plate  from  a  basin  that  she 
kept  warm  upon  the  hearth.  It  contained  nothing  but 
mallow  tea.  The  good  cttre",  who  was  as  thin  as  he  well 
could  be,  was,  in  fact,  one  of  those  admirable  priests 
who  are  so  absorbed  in  the  duties  and  charities  of  their 
calling  that  they  forget  self  altogether.  Priests  of  that 
saintly  character  are  looked  upon  by  the  more  worldly 
clergy  as  innocent  idealists,  whose  proper  sphere  is  an 
out-of-the-way  village.  It  is  said  by  those  who  know 
the  Church  better  than  I  do,  that  they  very  seldom  get 
much  ecclesiastical  advancement.  Their  self-denial  is 
sometimes  almost  incredible.  The  following  instances, 
which  have  been  narrated  to  me  by  people  who  knew 
the  cure's  themselves,  will  convey  some  idea  of  it. 

My  first  story  shall  be  about  a  curt  who  was  formerly 
incumbent  of  the  parish  where  my  house  is  situated. 
He  is  dead  now,  but  when  he  was  alive  he  was  not 
remarkable  for  attention  to  personal  appearance.  His 
wardrobe  (except,  of  course,  the  vestments  in  which  he 
officiated)  consisted  of  one  old  black  cotton  cassock, 
and  when  he  was  asked  to  dinner  it  was  his  custom  to 
ink  over  those  places  which  seemed  to  need  a  little 
restoration,  after  which  process  he  considered  himself 
presentable  in  good  society.  This,  however,  was  not 
the  opinion  of  his  brethren  who  were  men  of  the  world. 


A  Charitable  Priest.  337 


One  day  the  bishop  invited  him  to  dinner,  so  our  good 
cur/  went  in  his  old  cassock  even  to  the  bishop's  palace 
itself.  The  priests  of  the  episcopal  court  drew  the  pre- 
late's attention  to  that  cassock,  and  the  wearer  of  it 
incurred  a  severe  reprimand  for  his  mauvaise  tenue* 
The  ladies  of  his  parish,  who  loved  and  respected  him 
(with  good  reason),  were  much  pained  when  they  heard 
of  this,  and  subscribed  to  buy  him  a  good  new  silk 
cassock,  to  be  worn  on  state  occasions,  especially  at  the 
bishop's  table.  For  a  short  time  the  curt  remained  in 
possession  of  this  garment,  but  no  invitation  came  from 
the  bishop.  At  last  somebody  told  His  Grandeur  that 
the  poor  priest  had  now  the  means  of  making  a  decent 
appearance,  so  he  invited  him  again.  "  Alas,  Monseig- 
neur,"  was  the  reply,  "  a  month  since  I  could  have  come, 
for  I  had  the  new  cassock,  but  now  I  possess  it  no 
longer,  and  so  I  cannot  come!"  On  inquiry  it  turned 
out  that  some  poor  little  boys,  who  had  come  to  be 
catechized,  had  ragged  waistcoats,  and  could  not  make 
a  decent  appearance  at  church ;  so  it  struck  the  cure 
that  the  cassock  was  big  enough  to  make  several  capital 
waistcoats  for  little  boys,  and  he  had  employed  it  for 
that  purpose,  to  the  advantage  of  their  appearance,  but 
to  the  detriment  of  his  own. 

My  next  story,  which  is  also  perfectly  authentic, 
concerns  a  priest  who  is  still  alive,  and  so  incorrigibly 
charitable  as  to  be  the  despair  of  his  good  sister,  who 
tries  in  vain  to  keep  him  decent.  He  does  not  live  quite 

*  This  was  not  the  present  bishop  of  the  diocese,  who  would 
probably  have  inquired  minutely  into  the  character  of  the  old  curtt 
and  found  reason  to  respect  him  rather  than  to  reprimand  him. 

Z 


338  Charitable  Priests. 


close  to  my  house,  but  I  have  authentic  tidings  of  him  from 
a  very  near  neighbour  of  his  who  comes  to  see  me  occa- 
sionally. One  day  at  the  beginning  of  winter,  some  years 
ago,  a  lady  came  to  this  priest's  house  to  see  him  on  busi- 
ness, but  as  he  was  absent,  she  had  to  wait  for  his  return. 
The  first  thing  that  struck  him  on  entering  his  room 
was  that  the  lady  looked  miserably  cold.  "  How  cold 
you  do  look,  madame !"  he  said  ;  "  I  wish  I  had  a  fire 
to  warm  you  ;  but  the  fact  is — I  have  no  fuel."  When 
the  lady  went  away  she  told  the  story  to  her  friends, 
and  they  plotted  together  to  buy  the  cur/  a  comfortable 
little  stove  and  a  cartload  of  wood,  which  comforts  were 
duly  sent  to  the  presbytere.  Some  weeks  afterwards,  in 
the  severe  winter  weather,  the  lady  thought  she  would 
go  and  see  how  the  cure"s  stove  acted,  and  whether  he 
was  as  comfortable  as  she  had  expected.  On  this  visit 
the  following  little  conversation  took  place. 

Lady.  The  weather  is  so  bitterly  cold,  that  I  thought 
I  would  come  to  see  whether  your  stove  warmed  your 
room  properly. 

Cure".  Thank  you,  thank  you  !  The  stove  you  were 
so  good  as  to  give  me  is  really  excellent.  It  warms  a 
room  capitally. 

Lady  (who  by  this  time  has  penetrated  into  the 
chamber,  which  is  the  curb's  bedroom  and  sitting-room 
in  one).  But,  I  declare,  you  have  no  fire  at  all !  And  the 
stove  is  not  here  !  Have  you  set  it  up  somewhere  else  ? 

Cure"  (much  embarrassed).  Yes,  it  is  set  up  else- 
where. The  fact  is,  there  was  a  very  poor  woman  who 
was  delivered  of  a  child  at  the  time  you  sent  me  the 
stove,  and  she  had  no  fire,  so  I  gave  it  to  her, 


Charitable  Priests.  339 


Lady.  And  the  cartload  of  wood  ? 

Cure".   Oh !    of  course  she  must    have   fuel   for  her 
stove,  so  I  gave  her  the  wood  too. 

It  is  the  simple  truth  that  the  good  Christian  man 
was  quietly  sitting  without  a  spark  of  fire  all  through  a 
bitter  winter,  because,  in  his  opinion,  the  poor  woman 
needed  warmth  more  than  he  did.  The  same  curt  came 
•  home  sometimes  without  a  shirt — the  shirt  having  been 
given  to  some  very  poor  parishioner — and,  at  least  once, 
he  came  back  without  shoes,  for  the  same  reason.  At 
one  time  he  had  a  small  private  fortune :  need  I  say 
that  it  has  long  since  disappeared  ?  He  spent  a  good 
deal  ol  it  in  restoring  an  old  chapel  which  had  been 
abandoned  to  ruin,  but  is  now  used  again  for  public 
worship.  He  himself  officiates  there,  but  the  neigh- 
bouring clergy  still  retain  the  marriages,  christenings, 
and  burials,  so  that  he  has  nothing  to  live  upon  but  the 
little  pittance  given  by  the  Government. 

The  mention  of  burials  reminds  me  of  another  cur/, 
who  lives  within  a  few  miles  of  the  one  just  mentioned. 
This  one  does  not  give  his  shirt  or  his  shoes,  does  not 
reach  the  heroism  of  charity,  but  is  a  fine  example  of 
humane  feelings,  which  professional  customs  have  never 
been  able  to  deaden.  He  has  a  poor  parish — I  mean  a 
parish  where  there  is  a  good  deal  of  really  severe 
poverty  amongst  the  inhabitants, — and  he  was  com- 
plaining, on  one  occasion,  of  the  extreme  narrowness  of 
his  means.  "  But  you  have  a  good  casuel"  some  one 
observed.  "  You  have  a  populous  parish,  with  plenty 
of  funerals."  "Alas!"  he  answered,  "it  is  true  enough 
that  there  are  plenty  of  funerals  in  my  parish,  but  how 

Z  2 


340  Want  of  Intellectual  Culture. 

can  I  charge  burial  fees  to  poor  widows  and  orphans 
who  have  nothing  left  to  live  upon,  or  to  poor  workmen 
who  have  had  sickness  in  the  house  till  they  cannot  pay 
their  way?" 

English  and  American  travellers  on  the  continent  ol 
Europe  see  the  splendid  ceremonies  in  the  cathedrals 
and  the  gorgeous  processions  in  the  streets,  but  they  do 
not  see  the  obscure  acts  of  charity  and  self-denial,  which 
are  only  known  to  the  local  inhabitants,  and  not  even 
to  all  of  these.  From  seeing  the  ceremonies,  and  no- 
thing else,  the  foreigner  readily  misconceives  their  rela- 
tion to  the  daily  life  of  the  rural  clergy,  which  is  simple 
enough  in  its  poverty  and  isolation,  and  is  often  digni- 
fied by  an  earnest  endeavour  to  realize  the  Christian 
ideal. 

The  rural  French  clergy  are,  I  believe,  as  respectable 
a  class  of  men,  from  the  moral  point  of  view,  as  can  be 
found  anywhere,  but  they  have  little  knowledge,  little 
intellectual  culture.  The  Church  discipline  leaves  them 
scanty  time  for  the  improvement  of  their  minds  in  any 
other  than  a  religious  sense.  They  have  daily  service 
to  attend  to,  mass  every  morning  all  the  year  round, 
and  the  daily  reading  of  the  eternal  breviary,  besides 
special  readings  for  special  days  which  are  always 
coming  round,  there  are  so  many  of  them  in  the  calen- 
dar. A  priest  who  has  a  large  country  parish  has  a 
great  deal  of  walking  to  do.  The  one  whom  I  men- 
tioned as  being  the  cure"  of  a  village  perched  on  the 
crest  of  a  hill  1,500  feet  high,  descends  and  ascends  that 
hill  every  time  he  goes  out  on  his  parish  work,  which 
he  does  every  day.  The  books  and  newspapers  which 


Popular  Stories  about  Priests.  341 

the  country  clergy  receive  are  not  likely  to  enlarge  their 
minds.  They  cannot  go  to  cafe's,  which  are  the  real 
newsrooms  of  the  country,  and  so  they  are  driven,  out 
of  sheer  dulness,  to  take  in  that  untrustworthy  and 
scandalous  but  often  witty  paper  the  Figaro,  which  is 
sold  to  them  at  a  much  lower  price  than  to  lay  sub- 
scribers. People  must  have  an  amusement  of  some 
kind.  The  country  priest  finds  his  amusement  in 
reading  the  Figaro,  and  his  pleasure  in  eating  a  good 
dinner — when  it  is  offered  to  him. 

As  the  cure  is  an  isolated  personage,  not  dressed  like 
other  people,  and  not  conforming  to  their  customs,  it  is 
inevitable  that,  notwithstanding  the  sanctity  of  his 
character,  he  should  be  the  object  of  much  quiet  rural 
satire.  Every  village  has  its  funny  stories  about  cure's, 
either  living  or  dead.  The  following  would  supply  a 
cjood  subject  for  a  picture. 

In  a  hill  village  well  known  to  me,  where  the  hill- 
sides slope  down  in  very  rapid  declivities,  diversified  by 
grassy  places  and  stony  places,  there  lived,  a  few  years 
ago,  a  venerable  old  cure",  who,  to  eke  out  his  wrerched 
little  income,  kept  a  few  animals,  and  amongst  the  rest 
a  couple  of  goats.  He  used  to  take  these  goats  out 
with  him  upon  the  hill-side,  and  whilst  they  were  feed- 
ing he  read  his  breviary,  but  whilst  he  was  reading  the 
goats  sometimes  strayed  inconveniently  far,  and  the  in- 
convenience was  all  the  greater  to  him  that  he  could 
not  see  very  well,  so  that  it  was  not  easy  to  find  them. 
At  last,  however,  he  hit  upon  a  capital  expedient,  which 
seemed  to  reconcile  completely  the  two  occupations  he 
wished  to  carry  on  at  the  same  time.  With  two  strong 


342  The  Priest  and  his  Goats. 

and  rather  long  cords  he  tied  one  goat  to  one  of  his 
ankles  and  the  other  to  the  other,  after  which  he  sat 
down  on  the  hill-side  and  read  his  breviary  without 
much  interruption  from  the  animals,  which  soon  knew 
the  length  of  their  tether.  This  device  succeeded  so  well 
that  the  curt  was  rather  proud  of  it,  and  might  often  be 
seen  on  the  hill-side  in  this  position  on  a  fine  afternoon. 
At  length,  however,  an  incident  occurred  which  showed 
that  the  priest's  invention  might,  under  certain  circum- 
stances, be  dangerous.  Some  huntsmen  came  suddenly 
over  the  brow  of  the  hill  with  a  small  pack  of  beagles. 
The  goats  were  much  alarmed  at  these  strange  dogs, 
and  set  off  at  full  speed  down  the  steep  slope,  over 
the  grassy  places  and  the  stony  places,  dragging  the 
poor  old  curt  after  them.  He  was  not  killed,  but  he 
found  that  mode  of  travelling  decidedly  disagreeable.* 
The  incident  was  not  altogether  displeasing  to  his 
rustic  parishioners.  They  would  probably  not  have 
gone  the  whole  length  of  desiring  for  him  the  punish- 
ment of  Ganelon  the  traitor,  in  the  Song  of  Roland,  but 
this  mild  form  of  it  tickled  their  sense  of  the  ludicrous, 
and  gratified  the  latent  malevolence  with  which  human 
*  This  good  priest's  successor,  who  is  now  living  in  the  same 
parish,  found  that  people  complained  of  the  length  of  his  sermons, 
so  he  said  to  his  old  woman-servant,  "  When  I  get  agoing  I  never 
know  when  to  stop  ;  you  should  make  me  a  sign  when  I  have 
preached  long  enough,  and  then  I  would  stop."  After  that  the 
woman  made  her  sign  accordingly,  and  the  curd  broke  off  abruptly 
with  the  usual  form.  The  effect,  however,  was  strange  sometimes, 
as  on  one  occasion  when  he  said  to  his  parishioners,  "  If  you  do 
not  conduct  yourself  better  the  Devil  will  certainly  take  you." 
Here  the  preacher  glanced  at  his  servant,  who  made  the  sign  agreed 
upon,  so  he  ended,  at  once,  with  the  customary  set  phrase,  "  C'est 
la  grace  que  je  vous  souhaite." 


Popular  Superstitions.  343 

nature  generally  regards  those  who  are  set  in  authority 
over  it. 

The  magnificently  perfect  organization  of  the  Church 
of  Rome,  with  her  severe  and  efficient  discipline,  has 
produced  a  gigantic  instrument  for  influencing  mankind, 
which  would  produce  glorious  results  if  it  were  really 
used  for  their  enlightenment  ;  but  this,  unfortunately,  is 
not  her  object.  I  have  said  elsewhere  that  the  Church 
does  not  discourage  rural  superstition,  but  I  might  have 
gone  farther  than  that,  and  said  with  truth  that  she 
positively  encourages  it,  whilst  she  has  no  objection  to 
that  intensity  of  ignorance  which  reigns  amongst  the 
peasantry.  I  have  been  telling,  perhaps,  rather  too 
many  anecdotes  of  late,  yet  must  tell  one  anecdote 
more,  because  of  its  deep  significance,  and  because  of 
the  light  it  throws  upon  the  relation  of  the  Church  of 
Rome  to  popular  superstition. 

A  peasant  girl,  called  Annette,  who  lived  on  a  farm 
quite  close  to  our  house,  was  in  the  habit  of  drawing 
water  at  a  well  which  happened  to  be  situated  near  a 
lane.  As  this  lane  serves  for  a  communication  between 
several  different  farms,  and  also  connects  them  with  the 
high  road,  a  good  many  people  use  it.  Well,  this  girl 
was  drawing  water  at  six  o'clock  on  a  veiy  misty  Octo- 
ber morning,  when  some  one  gave  her  a  hearty  slap  on 
the  back,  said  "  Bon  jour,  Annette!"  in  a  cheery  voice,  and 
immediately  disappeared  in  the  misty  twilight.  What 
inference  would  the  reader  draw  from  this  incident  ? 
He  will  conclude,  at  once,  that  some  lad,  belonging  to  a 
neighbouring  farm,  who  knew  Annette,  had  amused 
himself  by  giving  her  this  greeting,  and  by  disappearing 


344  A  Ghost  Story. 

in  the  mist  before  she  could  discover  who  he  was.  The 
vigorous  slap  on  the  back  is  evidence  enough  that  the 
greeting  came  from  a  living  human  being,  and  not  from 
an  impalpable  shade.  This,  however,  was  not  Annette's 
interpretation  of  the  incident.  She  told  the  story  with 
evident  accuracy  as  to  the  facts,  but  interpreted  them  as 
follows :  The  person  who  had  said  "  Bon  jour,  Annette," 
was  not  a  living  human  being,  but  a  ghost,  the  ghost  of 
her  own  father,  and  the  reason  why  he  came  to  say  bon 
jour  in  such  an  unexpected  manner  was  that  he  was  very 
uncomfortable  in  purgatory.  This  made  the  girl  quite 
wretched.  My  wife  tried  to  reason  with  her,  adopting 
the  obvious  line  of  argument  that,  in  the  first  place,  the 
greeting  had  nothing  of  sadness  in  it,  and,  in  the  next 
place,  that  it  had  been  accompanied  by  a  good  slap  on 
the  back,  which  a  living  lad  might  easily  give,  but  a 
ghost  not  so  easily.  These  arguments,  however,  proved 
utterly  vain.  The  girl  remained  inconsolable  all  day, 
and  in  the  evening  went  to  seek  comfort  from  the  parish 
priest.  Now  the  priest,  instead  of  taking  the  rational 
side,  and  correcting  the  absurd  superstition  of  which 
the  girl  was  a  victim,  instinctively  preferred  to  take  the 
superstitious  side.  He  accepted  the  incident  as  a  real 
visitation  from  the  dead,  confirmed  the  girl's  interpreta- 
tion of  it  with  the  immense  weight  of  his  ecclesiastical 
authority,  and  told  her  that  as  she  had  now  plain  proof 
that  her  father's  soul  was  unhappy  she  ought  to  have 
masses  said  for  its  repose. 

This  little  story  exhibits  the  priest  quite  actively  on 
the  side  of  popular  superstition ;  but,  without  going  quite 
so  far  as  this,  a  priesthood  may  encourage  superstition 


Rural  Ways  of  Thinking.  345 

in  a  negative  way  simply  by  not  discountenancing  it, 
and  this  is  the  most  usual  way  in  which  the  Romish 
priesthood  maintains  the  mental  darkness  of  continental 
rural  populations.  In  every  village  there  is  a  man 
whose  position  gives  him  great  importance  in  the  eyes 
of  the  inhabitants,  who  is  set  there  to  teach  them  and 
guide  them,  who  is  often  the  only  educated  person  in 
the  place,  and  yet  this  man,  instead  of  contending 
against  the  ignorance  and  superstition  around  him, 
tacitly  allows  both  to  be  handed  down  from  generation 
to  generation !  There  is  a  reason  for  this,  of  course, 
and  the  reason,  in  plain  terms,  is  that  the  clergy  dread 
the  spirit  of  rationalism*  and  prefer  any  other  spirit  to 
that.  Hence,  whatever  may  be  their  moral  and  religious 
merits,  and  they  are  often  considerable,  the  Roman 
Catholic  clergy  will  never  of  themselves  do  much  to 
educate  a  nation,  and  they  will  oppose  a  strong  resist- 
ance, either  active  or  passive,  to  all  schemes  originating 
with  laymen  which  have  for  their  object  the  secular 
instruction  of  the  people.  At  the  same  time  we  cannot 
but  admit  that  there  is  a  perfect  harmony  between  the 
Church  and  the  rural  French  population  as  it  is.  The 
two  suit  each  other  exactly.  The  Church  is  truly  the 
Church  of  the  peasant,  and  speaks  to  him  a  language  in 
harmony  with  his  mental  state.  Even  in  the  anecdote 
which  I  have  just  related  about  the  girl  and  the  ghost, 

*  I  use  the  word  rationalism  here  in  the  broadest  sense.  For 
example,  all  educated  Englishmen  are  rationalists  wilh  regard  to 
witchcraft,  with  regard  to  trial  by  ordeal,  &c.  In  the  story  tuld  of 
the  girl  Annette,  my  wife's  explanation  was  a  piece  of  pure  ration* 
alism  in  opposition  to  the  supernatural  explanation  of  the  girl 
herself. 


346"  Clerical  Influence. 


the  exact  adaptation  of  the  Church  to  the  peasant-mind 
is  curiously  illustrated.  My  wife  tried  the  rational 
method  and  failed  completely.  She  did  not  dislodge 
the  belief  in  the  ghost's  visit,  neither  did  she  calm  the 
agitation  of  the  girl's  mind.  The  parish  priest,  by  ad- 
mitting that  the  visitant  was  ghostly,  at  once  gained 
the  girl's  confidence,  and  was  in  a  position  to  offer 
efficient  consolation.  Here  he  acted  truly  in  the  sense 
of  his  Church.  She  does  not  contradict  ignorance,  does 
not  vex  it  by  unwelcome  enlightenment,  but  puts  her- 
self on  its  level,  and  wins  its  sympathy  and  trust,  after 
which  she  consoles  it  just  as  it  wants  to  be  consoled. 


347 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Marriage— Celibacy  of  the  Clergy — French  Marriage  Customs — 
Paris  and  the  Country — Frenchmen  not  often  Fortune-hunters 
— Their  Notions  about  Dowries — Their  Views  of  Marriage — 
Propriety  and  Impropriety — Difficulty  of  getting  Acquainted 
with  a  Young  Lady — Progression  of  Customs  connected  with 
Propriety — The  French  Ideal  of  Young  Ladies — Their  Inno- 
cence and  Ignorance — Practical  Success  of  Respectable  Prin- 
ciples— The  Offer  must  precede  the  Courtship — How  Ccelebs 
proceeds  in  Preliminaries — Inquiries  about  Character  and 
Fortune — Attempts  to  get  a  Glimpse  of  the  Young  Lady — 
The  quite  Perfect  Manner  of  Doing  Things — An  Instance  in 
the  Author's  Experience — The  Author  becomes  a  Matrimo- 
nial Ambassador — Life  of  a  Young  Lady — A  Grand  Dance — 
A  Vexatious  Incident — Self-satisfaction  of  the  French  about 
their  Matrimonial  Arrangements — Difficulty  of  becoming  an 
Old  Maid — Strictness  with  which  Girls  are  brought  up — 
Effects  of  the  System — Nunneries — Girls  in  the  Lower  Classes 
— Their  Love  Affairs. 

AMONGST  the  many  curious  subjects  of  study  which  an 
Englishman  finds  in  France,  not  the  least  interesting  is 
that  of  marriage.  The  clergy,  of  whom  we  have  been 
talking  lately,  are  made  wholly  independent  of  marriage 
by  the  law  of  their  order.  All  doubts  and  difficulties  on 
this  subject  are  removed  from  their  life  by  the  inexor- 
able rule  of  ecclesiastical  discipline.  The  curt  settles 
down  into  his  bachelor-existence  without  the  feeling  of 
unsettledness  which  all  but  the  most  resolute  bachelors 
have  in  England.  I  well  remember  how  an  English 


Celibacy. 


country  clergyman  said  to  me,  "  My  position  is  very 
satisfactory  in  many  respects,  but  I  am  not  settled  yet, 
you  know."  "  Not  settled  yet  !  Why  not  ?  What  do 
you  mean  ?"  "  I  mean,"  he  answered,  with  a  little 
hesitation,  and  a  faint  blush  on  his  clear  Saxon  face, 
"  I  mean  that  I  am  not  married."  If  marriage  is  neces- 
sary to  give  a  clergyman  settled  feelings,  it  is  evident 
that  the  French  priests  can  never  feel  settled  as  long  as 
they  live. 

The  real  truth  appears  to  be  very  different  from  this. 
When  celibacy  is  decided  by  an  exterior  rule,  like  the 
discipline  of  the  Church,  it  gives  much  decision  and 
stability  to  life  ;  but  people  who  do  not  live  under  such 
disciplined  celibacy  fancy  that  nothing  is  decided  for 
them  until  they  get  married. 

In  France  this  feeling  of  instability  in  celibate  life  is 
even  stronger  than  it  is  in  England.  A  Frenchman 
looks  forward  to  marriage  as  his  inevitable  fate  at  some 
time  or  other,  and  a  French  girl  never  looks  to  old 
maidenhood  with  that  contented  anticipation  which 
may  be  seen  in  some  English  girls. 

It  is  only  after  many  years  of  experience  that  a 
foreigner  really  understands  French  customs  and  senti- 
ments about  marriage.  There  are  differences,  too,  in 
the  strength  and  intensity  of  those  customs  in  different 
parts  of  the  country.  In  Paris  they  are  not  the  same 
as  Round  My  House. 

The  usual  English  representation  of  the  matter  is 
roughly  true,  but  not  accurately  true.  English  writers 
generally  say  that  French  marriages  are  purely  matters 
of  business,  and  that  all  Frenchmen  are  fortune-hunters. 


French  Marriage  Customs.  349 

The  truth  is  that  marriages  are  not  quite  purely  matters 
of  business,  and  that  very  few  Frenchmen  indeed  are 
fortune-hunters  in  the  English  sense  of  the  word.  What 
is  really  true  is  that  marriages  in  France  are  generally 
arranged  by  the  exercise  of  reason  and  prudence,  rather 
than  by  either  passion  or  affection. 

By  reason  and  prudence — that  is  to  say,  by  what  the 
natives  of  the  country,  or  the  majority  of  them,  believe 
to  be  reason  and  prudence.  In  the  opinion  of  the 
reader  of  this  chapter,  or  in  the  opinion  of  the  writer, 
such  "  reason "  may  often  be  unreasonable,  and  such 
"prudence"  imprudent. 

With  regard  to  fortune-hunting,  all  that  can  be  fairly 
and  truly  said  is,  that  a  Frenchman  does  not  generally 
wish  to  take  the  whole  burden  of  marriage  and  its  ex- 
penses upon  his  own  unassisted  shoulders.  On  the 
other  hand,  he  seldom  seeks  to  make  a  profit  out  of 
marriage.  He  seldom  tries  to  throw  the  burden  of  his 
family  on  his  wife.  His  notion  is  that  the  wife  should 
do  something  to  help  him,  but  he  is  not  very  exacting 
as  to  the  share  she  ought  to  take.  He  will  not  marry  a 
girl  without  a  dower,  but  he  will  marry  a  girl  with  a 
very  moderate  dower,  the  interest  of  which  shall  be  just 
barely  enough  to  keep  herself,  without  considering  the 
children.  For  example,  thousands  of  young  Frenchmen 
in  the  professions  will  marry  girls  with  20,000  francs  for 
a  dowry.  At  five  per  cent.,  this  gives  .£40  a  year 
interest.  This  can  scarcely  be  called  fortune-hunting, 
since  it  is  evident  that  in  making  a  marriage  of  this 
kind  a  man  takes  upon  himself  a  burden  which  his 
wife's  dowry  will  only  partially  help  him  to  bear. 


35O  Notions  about  Dowries. 

From  the  division  of  property  amongst  male  and 
female  children  alike,  it  results  that  there  are  immense 
numbers  of  girls  in  France  who  have  a  fortune  of  some 
kind,  but  there  are  very  few  in  proportion  whom  it 
would  be  a  profitable  speculation  to  marry.  It  would 
be  a  great  mistake,  in  most  cases,  to  marry  even  a  girl 
with  £10,000  as  a  money  speculation,  for  sne  and  her 
children  would  cause  as  much  expenditure  as  the  in- 
terest of  her  fortune  would  provide  for.  Young  men  in 
the  upper  classes  are  perfectly  aware  of  this,  yet  they 
marry  often  when  the  girl  has  a  much  smaller  dower 
than  the  one  just  mentioned.  The  girl's  money  is  then 
prudently  invested,  and  the  man's  own  personal  expen- 
diture is  rather  diminished  than  increased  after  his 
marriage.  You  cannot,  in  such  cases,  fairly  or  justly 
say  that  the  man  sells  himself  for  money,  when  he 
neither  uses  the  principal  nor  the  interest  for  his  own 
pleasure. 

The  exact  shade  of  opinion  amongst  young  men  is 
this.  They  all  seem  to  believe  that  at  a  certain  time  of 
life  marriage  is  a  necessity,  and  they  try  to  manage  so 
that  in  conforming  to  this  necessity  they  shall  not  crip- 
ple themselves  entirely  in  their  money  matters.  If  a 
matrimonial  arrangement  can  be  managed  in  this  quietly 
prudent  way,  they  are  generally  ready  to  enter  into  it, 
on  the  conditions  that  the  young  lady  and  her  family 
are  not  decidedly  objectionable  in  any  way.  So  far 
from  being  determined  fortune-hunters,  they  very  often 
seem  to  consider  it  inconsistent  with  their  self-respect 
to  look  for  more  than  a  fair  proportion  of  fortune  in  a 
wife. 


Propriety  and  Impropriety.  351 

In  all  matters  of  custom  we  must  ever  remember  that 
the  idea  of  propriety  is  associated  with  existing  customs, 
however  absurd  they  may  seem  to  foreigners,  and  the 
idea  of  impropriety  is  associated  with  the  breach  of 
them.  In  matters  connected  with  marriage  these  no- 
tions are  always  tremendously  strong.  To  French 
parents  in  a  decent  rank  of  life,  the  English  customs 
about  marriage  do  not  merely  seem  foreign,  they  seem 
indecorous  and  improper  in  a  very  bad  sense.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  French  customs,  which  I  am  about  to 
describe  in  this  chapter,  seem  to  them  exactly  what  all 
respectable  and  right-thinking  persons  will  observe  as  a 
matter  of  common  decency  and  of  right  manners  and 
behaviour. 

The  difficulty  for  young  men  is  to  become  acquainted 
with  young  ladies  .in  their  own  class.  This  difficulty 
varies  in  degree  according  to  places  and  to  rank  in 
society.  In  Paris,  in  the  upper  classes,  it  is  not  insur- 
mountable ;  in  the  country,  amongst  the  peasantry,  it 
cannot  be  said  to  exist.  It  is  strongest  in  what  may 
be  called  the  "  respectable "  classes  in  country  towns 
and  their  vicinities.  In  Parisian  society  young  ladies 
go  out  into  "  le  monde,"  and  may  be  seen  and  even 
spoken  to  at  evening  parties.  Penniless  girls  in  Paris 
often  make  good  matches  when  they  are  pretty  and 
intelligent,  or  even  when  they  have  simply  a  little 
reputation  for  good  household  qualities ;  but  in  a 
country  town  it  is  extremely  difficult  for  a  penniless 
girl  in  the  middle  classes  to  get  a  husband  at  all,  for 
reasons  which  the  reader  will  fully  appreciate  when  they 
have  been  clearly  explained. 


352  Customs  connected  with  Propriety. 

When  the  idea  of  propriety  has  become  attached  to  a 
custom,  there  is  always  a  tendency  to  carry  the  custom 
farther  and  farther  in  its  own  direction,  as  people  wish 
to  distinguish  themselves  by  a  greater  degree  of  pro- 
priety than  their  neighbours,  or  as  they  dread  more  and 
more  the  terrible  imputation  of  being  indecorous,  and 
indifferent  to  those  things  which  constitute  respectability 
and  good-breeding.  I  may  mention  as  a  good  instance 
of  this  the  progressive  purification  of  the  English  lan- 
guage in  respectable  society,  by  which  very  many  things 
in  which  our  forefathers  saw  no  harm  have  been  tabooed 
one  after  the  other  as  unbecoming,  until  now  not  only 
what  is  really  immoral  is  not  permitted,  but  a  thousand 
things  which  are  not  in  the  least  immoral  are  forbidden 
as  contrary  to  good  taste.  The  progression  of  Sunday 
observance  in  Scotland  from  former  laxity  to  its  present 
minute  strictness  of  social  law,  is  another  effect  of  the 
same  cause.  To  keep  the  Sabbath  strictly  is  part  of 
respectability  in  Scotland,  consequently,  there  has  been 
much  emulation  in  the  discovery  of  new  kinds  and 
degrees  of  strictness,  until  at  last  the  point  is  reached 
of  keeping  the  blinds  down  and  covering  up  the  bird- 
cages to  prevent  the  birds  from  singing;  or  delicate 
distinctions  are  established  as  that  you  may  cross  a  loch 
in  a  rowing-boat  on  Sunday,  but  not  with  a  sail,  because 
although  rowing  is  a  toil  sailing  may  be  interpreted  as 
a  pleasure,  which  is  the  more  sinful  of  the  two.  Many 
readers  will  be  much  surprised  to  hear  me  compare 
French  customs  about  marriage  with  English  and  Scotch 
proprieties  of  language  and  Sabbath-keeping,  but  the 
comparison  is  a  perfectly  just  one,  as  I  will  now  prove. 


Innocence  and  Ignorance.  353 

The  true  foundation  of  the  French  marriage  custom 
is  the  notion  of  propriety  in  the  bringing-up  of  young 
ladies,  which  has  led  respectable  people,  and  those  who 
wished  to  be  considered  respectable,  to  refine  upon  the 
original  idea  of  what  is  necessary  to  the  pure  reputation 
of  a  virgin,  until  at  last  they  have  arrived  at  that  danger- 
ous consummation,  the  realization  of  an  ideal,  which  in 
a  world  like  this  is  always  sure  to  be  punished  by  very 
serious  practical  inconveniences. 

The  English  critic  of  French  manners  who  does  not 
really  know  France,  but  has  only  read  about  it  in  the 
newspapers,  or  passed  through  it  on  the  railway,  fancies 
that  young  Frenchmen  are  indifferent  to  the  charms  and 
qualities  of  marriageable  young  women,  and  think  of 
nothing  but  their  dowries.  The  English  critic  puts  the 
blame  of  the  present  system  on  the  wrong  shoulders. 
The  young  men  are  not  to  blame  ;  they  would  be  ready 
enough,  perhaps,  to  fall  in  love  if  they  had  the  chance, 
like  any  Englishman  or  German,  but  the  respectable 
parents  of  the  young  lady  take  care  that  they  shall  not 
have  the  chance  of  falling  in  love. 

The  French  ideal  of  a  well-brought-up  young  lady  is 
that  she  should  not  know  anything  whatever  about  love 
and  marriage,  that  she  should  be  both  innocent  and 
ignorant,  and  both  in  the  supreme  degree,  both  to  a  de- 
gree which  no  English  person  can  imagine.  If,  indeed,  I 
were  to  say  here  quite  plainly  to  what  a  degree  this 
innocence  and  this  ignorance  are  carried  in  the  most 
thoroughly  respectable  French  families,  the  English 
reader  would  laugh  at  me,  and  say  that  it  was  neither 
true  nor  possible,  and  that  I  was  very  innocent  myself 
for  believing  it  to  be  possible. 

A  A 


354  Practical  Success. 

The  respectable  view  of  matters  is,  that  when  a  young 
lady  has  been  kept  in  quite  perfect  innocence  and  igno- 
rance, and  has  never  had  an  attachment  of  any  kind, 
if  an  arrangement  can  be  made  which  will  secure  her 
material  comfort  in  a  marriage  arranged  for  her  by  her 
parents,  she  will  in  all  probability  attach  herself  to  her 
husband,  and  never  know  any  disturbing  affection; 
whereas  if  she  were  to  form  an  attachment  before  mar- 
riage it  would  probably  be  unsuitable,  and  lead  not 
only  to  her  loss  of  reputation,  but  also  to  the  wreck  of 
her  happiness. 

It  is  as  well  to  remember,  what  foreign  critics  so  easily 
forget,  that  the  mother  of  the  young  lady  has  been 
brought  up  and  married  in  the  respectable  way  also, 
and  that  she  is  always  firmly  convinced  by  her  own 
experience  that  it  is  the  path  of  safety. 

The  general  goodness  and  devotedness  of  womankind 
come  to  support  this  view.  It  is  the  plain  undeniable 
fact  that  most  young  women  brought  up  and  married 
on  respectable  principles  make  very  good  wives.  In  our 
part  of  France  the  respectable  principle  is  pushed  to  its 
utmost  conceivable  extreme ;  and  the  young  ladies 
become  excellent  wives,  faithful,  orderly,  dutiful,  con- 
tented, and  economical. 

The  practical  success  of  the  system  gives  its  advocates 
the  upper  hand  in  argument  against  romantic  opponents 
who  venture  to  argue  in  favour  of  the  affections.  "  A 
woman  always  loves  her  husband,"  they  tell  you,  "  so 
there  need  be  no  anxiety  on  that  account."  And,  really, 
they  all  either  love  their  husbands  or  conduct  themselves 
as  if  they  did  so,  which  is  quite  as  satisfactory  to  the 
respectable  mind,  caring  only  for  appearances. 


Preliminaries.    •  355 


It  is  only  fair,  in  writing  about  French  marriages,  to 
remember  that  the  blame  resides  with  the  parents  of 
the  young  lady,  and  that  their  caution  and  timidity  ought 
to  be  regarded  with  the  very  utmost  indulgence,  as  it 
proceeds  entirely  from  their  anxiety  to  protect  the  re- 
putation and  assure  the  happiness  of  their  daughters. 

The  extent  to  which  the  idea  of  virginal  purity  is  pushed 
in  respectable  French  families  is  one  of  the  most  striking 
examples  one  could  find  of  a  poetical  and  religious  ideal 
carried  out  to  its  extremest  practical  consequences. 

Suppose  a  house  (I  can  see  such  a  house  from  my 
windows)  where  there  is  a  young  lady  of  a  marriageable 
age.  How  is  a  young  gentleman  to  gain  admission  to 
that  house  ?  There  is  but  one  way  for  him.  He  must 
first,  through  a  third  party,  ask  to  marry  the  young 
lady,  and,  if  her  parents  consent,  he  will  then  be  ad- 
mitted to  see  her  and  speak  to  her,  but  not  otherwise. 
The  respectable  order  of  affairs  is  that  the  offer  and 
acceptance  should  precede,  and  not  follow,  the  courtship. 

How,  then,  does  Ccelebs  ascertain  what  sort  of  a  per- 
son is  his  future  wife  ?  There  are  two  ways.  First,  as  to 
her  character,  he  makes  inquiries  to  ascertain  whether 
she  has  worldly  or  homely  tastes,  whether  she  under- 
stands housekeeping  or  spends  her  time  in  devotion  and 
fancy  work.  He  gets  this  information  generally  from 
ladies  who  have  access  to  the  house,  but,  however 
truthfully  they  answer  him,  they  are  likely  enough 
to  deceive  him,  unwittingly,  in  some  respects.  All 
"  well-elevated  "  young  French  girls  are  simple  in  their 
dress  and  modest  in  their  manners,  but  they  may 
possibly  have  a  strong  though  repressed  desire  for  "  la 

A  A   2 


Inquiries. 


toilette,"  and  tongues  that  would  go  like  barrel-organs 
if  once  they  were  set  in  motion.  Information  is  some- 
times got  through  the  parish  priest,  but  he  too  may 
deceive,  unwittingly,  from  a  natural  preference  for  girls 
who  embroider  vestments  for  him,  and  altar-cloths,  and 
who  are  more  attached  to  the  ceremonies  of  the  Church 
than  to  the  duties  of  housekeeping.  However,  Ccelebs 
gets  his  "  renseignments  "  from  various  sources,  and 
consoles  himself  by  the  reflection  that  if  he  saw  the 
young  lady  every  day  he  would  probably  be  just  as  far 
from  knowing  the  real  truth  about  her  character  and 
habits.  "  I  shall  find  out  all  that  after  marriage,"  he 
says  to  himself,  a  reflection  which  may  be  comforting 
or  not,  according  to  the  degree  of  his  faith  in  the  general 
goodness  and  reasonableness  of  womankind. 

In  order  to  appreciate  the  charms  of  the  young  lady's 
person,  Ccelebs  tries  furtively  to  get  a  sight  of  her.  There 
are  several  ways  in  which  this  may  be  managed  ;  the 
most  usual  ways  are  these.  He  finds  out  where  she 
goes  to  mass,  and  attends  service  in  company  with  some 
male  or  female  acquaintance  who  knows  the  young  lady 
by  sight.  In  this  way  many  young  Frenchmen,  who 
are  not  generally  in  the  habit  of  going  to  church,  be- 
come suddenly  quite  frequent  attendants,  both  at  mass 
and  vespers,  to  the  surprise  and  pleasure  of  all  religious 
old  ladies  who  know  them.  Sometimes  there  is  a  little 
difficulty  when  there  are  two  or  three  sisters  who  are 
dressed  precisely  alike,  or  when  some  other  young  lady 
has  adopted  the  same  fashions,  and  I  have  known  an 
instance  where  Ccelebs  thought  he  had  been  admiring 
Mademoiselle  B.,  who  had  been  recommended  to  him, 


A  Glimpse.  357 

whereas  in  reality  it  was  Mademoiselle  C.  whose  good 
looks  had  appeared  to  him  so  satisfactory.  To  avoid  a 
mistake  of  this  kind,  the  best  way  is  to  go  and  visit  a 
friend  in  the  town  who  knows  everybody  by  sight,  on 
some  day  when  there  is  a  religious  procession.  All  the 
girls  are  sure  to  join  it,  and  if  Ccelebs  has  a  friend  with 
a  window  commanding  a  corner  road  which  the  pro- 
cession will  have  to  turn,  and  a  little  reach  of  street 
along  which  it  will  have  to  pass,  there  will  be  time 
enough  (considering  how  slowly  such  processions  move) 
to  make  sure  who  is  who,  whilst  explanations  can  be 
given  much  more  easily  in  a  private  house  than  they 
can  at  church  in  service-time.  Ccelebs  in  this  way  gets 
a  glimpse  of  the  young  lady,  and  is  satisfied  or  not 
satisfied  as  the  case  may  be.  As  a  rule,  he  is  generally 
very  easily  satisfied  indeed,  especially  as  a  few  yards  of 
distance  lend  enchantment  to  the  view.  Provided,  then, 
that  the  young  lady's  nose  is  not  like  that  of  the  late 
Lord  Brougham,  and  that  she  does  not  squint  too 
violently,  and  that  she  has  not  a  hump-back,  and  is  not 
lame,  Ccelebs  will  most  probably  conclude  that  he  has 
no  objection,  and  he  will  send  an  ambassador  to  the 
lady's  father  and  mother  to  request  the  honour  of  a 
matrimonial  alliance.  He  has  not  heard  the  young 
lady's  voice  yet,  but  he  will  probably  hear  quite  enough 
of  it  after  marriage,  so  there  is  no  immediate  hurry. 

This,  however,  is  rather  a  bourgeoise  manner  of  pre- 
paring one's  mind  to  enter  into  matrimony.  This 
peeping  at  church  and  in  the  street  betrays  a  low 
anxiety  about  the  young  lady's  person,  whereas  the 
right  manner  of  regarding  marriage,  according  to  the 


35 8  The  quite  perfect  Manner. 

opinion  of  good  society,  is  to  consider  it  as  a  contract 
between  two  social  positions,  rather  than  between  two 
persons.  The  quite  perfect  manner  of  doing  things  is 
to  ask,  by  an  ambassador,  for  the  hand  of  a  young  lady 
whom  you  have  never  seen  ;  for  if  you  have  never  seen 
her,  it  is  impossible  that  there  should  be  any  taint  of 
earthly  passion  in  your  project,  which,  is  evidently  sug- 
gested to  you  by  considerations  of  worldly  wisdom,  and 
by  these  considerations  alone.  There  is  nothing  which 
good  society  in  France  disapproves  of  so  much  as  the 
passion  of  love,  or  anything  resembling  it ;  and  there  is 
nothing  which  it  so  much  respects  and  esteems  in  a 
young  man  (or  an  old  one  either)  as  a  proper  sense  of 
what  is  conducive  to  the  maintenance  of  social  position. 
When  Ccelebs  asks  for  the  hand  of  a  girl  he  has  seen 
for  a  minute,  he  may  just  possibly  be  in  love  with  her, 
which  is  a  degrading  supposition ;  but  if  he  has  never 
seen  her,  you  cannot  even  suspect  him  of  a  sentiment  so 
unbecoming. 

I  well  remember  a  certain  young  gentleman  who 
came  to  ask  me  to  be  his  ambassador  in  a  matrimonial 
negotiation — an  office  which  I  very  willingly  undertook. 
He  had  a  small  independent  property  and  a  profession  ; 
he  had  also  taken  better  university  degrees  than  most 
Frenchmen  think  it  necessary  to  take,  and  was,  on  the 
whole,  a  superior  person,  very  eligible  as  a  son-in-law. 
The  young  lady  whom  he  wanted  to  marry  belonged  to 
a  very  respectable  bourgcoisc  family,  and  had  land  of  her 
own  fully  sufficient  for  her  maintenance.  She  had  been 
well  educated  (as  female  education  goes),  and  was  quite 
able  to  manage  a  house  with  order  and  economy ;  she 


A  Matrimonial  Embassy.  359 

had  plenty  of  good  common  sense,  was  as  ladylike  as  it 
is  possible  to  be,  and  very  agreeable  to  those  who  knew 
her  intimately,  as  we  did.  One  detail  remains  to  be 
added  :  she  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  women  I  ever 
saw  in  my  life. 

I  at  once  concluded  that  my  client  (like  many  another) 
had  been  conquered  by  that  beautiful  face,  and  become 
the  slave  of  love.  I  rather  liked  him  for  it.  Here,  at 
any  rate,  I  thought,  was  a  Frenchman  who  had  eyes  to 
see  and  a  heart  capable  of  feeling  certain  tender  emo- 
tions which  we  read  about  in  the  poets  of  other  ages, 
but  which  very  seldom  give  their  divine  warmth  and 
sweetness  to  the  chilly,  calculating  times  in  which  we 
live.  "  I  don't  wonder,"  I  said,  "  that  you  should  ad- 
mire such  an  admirable  young  lady.  She  becomes 
more  and  more  beautiful  every  day." 

"  Is  she  pretty  ?  I  have  never  seen  her.  Some  people 
say  she  is  pretty." 

My  feelings,  as  an  Englishman  believing  in  love,  and 
an  artist  believing  in  beauty,  were  outraged  by  this 
answer  ;  so  I  rejoined  with  some  acerbity, — 

"Then  for  what  reason  on  earth  do  you  want  to 
marry  her?" 

It  was  now  his  turn  to  be  surprised.  After  opening 
his  eyes  in  astonishment,  he  said,  "  I  have  reached  the 
'time  of  life  when  men  take  wives.  I  have  made  careful 
inquiries,  and,  from  all  I  can  learn,  this  young  lady 
would  make  me  a  good  and  suitable  wife.  They  say 
that  she  is  well  brought  up,  and  can  manage  a  house, 
and  that  she  has  good  manners.  I  know  that  she  has  a 
suitable  property,  which  is  essential.  There  would  be  a 


360  A  Matrimonial  Enibassy. 

fair  proportion  between  her  estate  and  mine,  and  my 
professional  income  would  place  a  considerable  balance 
on  my  side." 

It  was  absurd  to  expect  this  young  gentleman  to 
reason  otherwise  than  after  the  manner  of  a  respectable 
Frenchman.  His  motives  were  honest  enough.  He 
was  not  in  the  least  a  fortune-hunter,  telling  lies  to  get 
possession  of  an  estate ;  he  was  simply  a  decent  young 
Frenchman,  telling  the  exact  truth  about  himself  and 
his  motives.  He  had  got  the  idea  into  his  head  on  his 
last  birthday — he  being  then  thirty-two  years  of  age — 
that  it  was  time  to  get  married,  and  this  was  the  man- 
ner, at  once  frank  and  prudent,  in  which  he  thought  it 
best  to  set  about  it. 

In  England,  or  in  any  country  where  marriage  cus- 
toms were  not  founded  upon  an  absurdly  exaggerated 
anxiety  for  the  reputation  of  young  women,  a  person 
who  knew  both  parties,  as  I  did,  would  simply  have 
invited  them  at  the  same  time,  that  they  might  look  at 
each  other  and  hear  each  other's  voices.  In  rural  France 
such  an  arrangement  was  utterly  impossible.  Had  I 
invited  the  young  lady  and  her  mother  after  telling  the 
latter  that  Ccelebs  would  be  present,  she  would  have 
refused  at  once  to  bring  her  daughter  ;  and  if  I  had 
invited  the  ladies  without  warning  the  mother  about 
Coelebs,  she  would  have  considered  the  arrangement  an 
outrage,  and  would  never  have  forgiven  me.  I  suggested 
that  he  ought  to  do  as  others  did  in  similar  circum- 
stances— namely,  try  and  get  a  peep  at  the  young  lady  ; 
but  he  said  he  had  not  time.  It  might  be  weeks  before 
he  could  get  the  glimpse,  and  he  wanted  to  know  his 


A  Matrimonial  Embassy  361 

fate  at  once,  because,  if  refused,  he  might  then  go  else- 
where. 

This  being  so,  I  promised  to  make  the  offer,  and  set 
off  accordingly  next  day  for  the  house  where  the  beau- 
tiful young  lady  dwelt.  Circumstances  favoured  me 
greatly,  for  I  met  her  mamma  in  a  quiet  country  lane, 
and  very  soon  came  to  the  point.  In  England  such  a 
mission  would  have  been  preposterous,  but  I  knew 
French  prejudices  well  enough  to  be  aware  that  I  was 
doing  exactly  the  right  thing  in  the  right  way,  and  that 
what  would  have  seemed  preposterous  in  England  (the 
fact  that  Ccelebs  had  never  seen  the  girl)  was  strongly 
in  my  favour,  as  a  proof  that  my  client  had  what  we 
shall  call  the  ideas  and  feelings  of  a  gentleman.  It 
turned  out  as  I  had  expected.  Mamma,  by  her  ques- 
tions (which  were  answered  with  the  most  absolute 
frankness),  soon  discovered  this,  and  I  could  see  by  her 
looks  that  Ccelebs  gained  thereby  in  her  esteem.  The 
answer  I  got  was  by  no  means  unfavourable,  and 
amounted  to  this — that  if  Ccelebs  would  wait  two  years, 
he  would  have  a  fair  chance,  if  a  richer  and  nobler 
Ccelebs  did  not  turn  up  in  the  meanwhile,  but  that  the 
young  lady  was  to  dwell  in  maidenhood  until  the  expi- 
ration of  that  time.  My  client,  however,  was  but  little 
satisfied  with  this  decision,  and  applied  for  another 
young  lady,  whom  he  married  in  about  a  month.  I 
cannot  say  whether  he  ever  saw  her  before  their  en- 
gagement,— very  likely  he  did  not, — but  she  is  an 
excellent  wife  to  him,  and  they  both  appear  (so  far  as 
others  can  judge)  to  dwell  together  in  the  greatest 
domestic  bliss. 


362  Life  of  a  young  Lady. 

It  is  not  merely  difficult,  in  our  neighbourhood,  for  a 
young  man  in  the  respectable  classes  to  get  acquainted 
with  a  young  lady,  but  every  conceivable  arrangement 
is  devised  to  make  it  absolutely  impossible.  Balls  and 
evening  parties  are  hardly  ever  given,  and  when  they 
are  given  great  care  is  taken  to  keep  young  men  out  of 
them,  and  marriageable  girls  either  dance  with  each 
other  or  with  mere  children.  Children's  parties  are  fre- 
quent enough,  especially  garden  parties  in  summer,  and 
young  ladies  go  to  them  faute  de  mieux.  To  give  the 
reader  some  faint  idea  of  the  way  in  which  young  bache- 
lors are  excluded,  I  will  tell  him  a  little  anecdote  which 
is  perfectly  true.  A  certain  lady  who  had  a  son  about 
twenty-two  years  old,  and  some  daughters,  gave  a  grand 
dance,  to  our  astonishment.  What  astonished  us  was 
how  it  came  to  pass  that  respectable  mothers  would  let 
their  daughters  go  and  dance  at  a  house  where  there 
was  a  young  man,  but  when  we  learned  how  things  had 
been  managed,  our  perplexity  entirely  ceased.  The 
lady  sent  her  son  away  for  the  evening,  and  the  young 
ladies  were  divided  into  two  bodies,  one  of  which,  deco- 
rated with  blue  rosettes,  was  supposed  to  represent  the 
inadmissible  male  sex. 

I  remember  a  very  amusing  but  vexatious  incident 
which  occurred  at  my  own  house.  A  lady  and  her 
daughter  had  come  to  spend  the  day.  The  girl  was  in 
every  respect  attractive,  she  was  very  pretty,  perfectly 
bien  flev/e,  very  intelligent,  and  an  excellent  musician. 
She  had  also  a  good  substantial  dowry,  which  is  never 
objectionable.  At  the  same  time  both  mother  and 
daughter  were  intensely  ambitious.  Well,  as  ill-luck 


A    Vexatious  Incident.  363 

would  have  it,  it  so  happened  that  in  the  course  of  the 
afternoon,  whilst  these  ladies  were  with  us,  a  young 
man  called  upon  me,  and  (through  the  bad  management 
of  a  servant)  was  shown,  not  into  my  study,  but  into 
the  room  where  these  ladies  were.  Of  course  they 
could  put  but  one  interpretation  on  such  an  extraor- 
dinary and  almost  outrageous  incident.  They  must, 
necessarily,  have  supposed  that  I  had  invited  the  young 
gentleman  to  come  to  look  at  Mademoiselle.  Dark 
clouds  of  displeasure  lowered  on  the  maternal  brow, 
and  only  disappeared  when  I  got  the  youth  out  of  the 
room  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  it  was  explained  that 
he  had  come  to  see  me  quite  by  accident  that  day. 
Very  shortly  afterwards  Mademoiselle  became  Madame 

la  Comtesse  de  ,  and  the  maternal  anxieties  were 

at  an  end. 

Married  people  will  tell  you  very  frankly  the  history 
of  their  marriages,  even  in  the  presence  of  each  other. 
"  I  only  saw  my  wife  a  month  before  we  were  married," 
a  man  will  tell  you,  and  a  lady  will  say,  "  I  never  saw 
my  husband  until  we  were  already  engaged."  The 
general  opinion  amongst  married  people  is  that  the 
more  quickly  all  preliminaries  are  got  through  the 
better.  The  whole  affair  is  often  got  through  in  a 
month.  On  the  first  of  April  Monsieur  Nigaud  may 
awake  and  think  to  himself,  "  Tiens !  j'ai  trente  ans,  si 
je  me  mariais  ? "  but  without  the  most  remote  idea 
of  any  particular  lady,  and  on  the  first  of  May  he 
may  awake  and  see  Madame  Nigaud  quietly  sleeping 
by  his  side,  whilst  her  parents  are  perfectly  satisfied 
with  the  arrangement.  The  most  curious  thing  about 


364  Old  Maids. 


French  marriages  is  that  all  parties  seem  so  intensely 
satisfied  with  the  wisdom  of  their  own  decisions.  They 
all  enter  into  these  arrangements  with  the  determi- 
nation to  be  deliberately  prudent,  so  as  to  leave  no 
room  for  regret ;  and  they  are  firmly  persuaded  ever 
afterwards  that  they  have  done  exactly  what  was  best. 
Can  any  state  of  mind  be  more  conducive  to  con- 
tentment ? 

There  are  very  few  old  maids  in  France,  except  in 
the  nunneries,  but  sometimes  a  girl  will  take  the  resolu- 
tion to  remain  in  celibacy  without  either  taking  the  veil 
or  becoming  a  sister  of  charity.  When  this  happens, 
the  young  lady  has  a  particularly  difficult  transition 
to  accomplish.  How  is  she  to  pass  from  the  condition 
of  a  marriageable  jeune  fille,  with  all  its  severe  restric- 
tions, to  the  condition  of  a  vieille  fille,  with  its  liberties  ? 
The  only  way  for  her  to  manage  this  is  to  incur  the 
terrible  risk  of  being  a  subject  for  scandalous  tongues, 
and  the  certainty  of  being  the  town's  talk  until  her  new 
position  is  recognized.  A  respectable  jcune  fille  cannot 
go  out  of  the  house  unattended,  a  vieille  fille  can  ;  but 
the  first  time  that  Mademoiselle  (now  twenty-five  years 
old,  and  determined  to  embrace  celibacy)  issues  forth  to 
do  a  little  shopping  without  the  customary  bonne,  » 
thousand  tongues  are  set  agoing.  Many  blame  hei 
thoughtless  conduct,  others  doubt  if  she  is  still  respect 
able,  others  accept  the  act  as  a  declaration  of  spinster- 
hood,  but  speak  of  the  resolution  ill-naturedly.  On 
such  occasions,  however,  there  will  generally  be  found  a 
few  good  souls  to  protect  the  young  lady's  reputation, 
and  in  a  week  or  two  nobody  thinks  of  the  matter  any 


Strict  Education.  365 

more ;  she  may  go  wherever  she  pleases,  amidst  the 
public  indifference.  Still,  it  is  a  hard  transition  to 
accomplish — incomparably  harder  than  in  England, 
where  a  woman  is  not  irrevocably  an  old  maid  till  after 
thirty,  and  where  a  young  girl  may  go  where  she  likes 
without  much  risk  to  her  good  name. 

I  have  said  already  that  I  believe  it  to  be  a  dangerous 
thing  for  people  to  carry  ideals  too  far  towards  actual 
realization  in  common  life.  We  live  between  contra- 
dictions, between  opposing  forces,  and  our  ideals  are 
generally  little  else  than  a  preference  of  one  force  or 
principle  to  another  when  we  ought  to  pay  equal  regard 
to  both  of  them.  The  French  ideal  of  tiaejewufilU  is 
very  beautiful,  it  is  a  sort  of  poem,  but  it  is  carried  too 
far  for  the  rude  realities  of  the  world.  In  our  neigh- 
bourhood girls  are  brought  up  with  a  degree  of  strict- 
ness of  which  English  people  have  no  conception. 
Their  existence  is  composed  entirely  of  religious  duties 
and  homely  service,  with  hardly  anything  in  the  way  of 
pleasure  or  variety.  They  get  up  early,  work  from 
morning  till  night  at  household  duties  of  some  kind,  see 
hardly  any  society,  never  speak  to  a  young  gentleman 
by  any  chance,  go  to  church  very  often,  retreat  occa- 
sionally into  a  convent  to  make  themselves  more  pious 
than  ever,  and  cultivate  practically  to  the  utmost  the 
two  virtues  of  simplicity  and  obedience.  They  dress 
plainly,  never  wear  jewels,  and  if  by  chance  they  are 
thrown  into  society  they  never  open  their  lips.  Public 
opinion  and  parental  authority  weigh  upon  them  with 
such  irresistible  power  that  what  are  quite  ordinary  and 
blameless  actions  in  all  other  people  are  heinous  offences 


366  Effects  of  the  System. 

in  them.  They  may  not  cross  a  street  alone,  nor  open 
a  book  which  has  not  been  examined,  nor  have  an 
opinion  about  anything.  They  are  not  really  and 
frankly  admitted  into  any  one  branch  of  human  know- 
ledge. History  is  expurgated  and  arranged  for  them, 
so  are  science  and  art,  so  is  even  theology,  of  which 
they  constantly  hear  so  much.  The  wonder  is  that 
under  such  a  strict  system  they  should  not  mope  and 
make  themselves  miserable.  On  the  contrary,  they  are 
remarkably  cheerful,  their  obedience  always  seems  hearty 
and  willing,  their  trust  in  their  parents  absolute,  their 
love  for  them  great  enough  to  bear  the  most  exacting 
and  irritating  parental  government  without  a  murmur. 
If  they  have  personal  vanity  it  has  no  opportunity  of 
showing  itself,  for  they  are  dressed  too  simply,  and 
sisters  are  dressed  precisely  alike,  to  the  smallest  bit  of 
ribbon.  One  quality  of  a  negative  kind  they  have,  of 
course,  in  perfection  ;  they  never  do  anything  to  catch 
husbands,  the  existing  social  system  makes  that  im- 
possible. 

There  is  not  much  visible  evil  in  all  this,  and  the 
object  of  the  training  is  good  in  intention.  It  is 
thought  that  thejeuue  fille  cannot  be  too  innocent,  too 
virtuous,  or  too  religious.  And  the  fact  is  that  the  life 
of  a  goodjcitncfille  must  be  like  that  of  paradise  before 
the  fall.  She  has  not  eaten  of  the  tree  of  knowledge, 
she  is  industrious  as  Milton  says  that  innocent  Eve  was, 
and,  like  Eve,  she  talks  to  angels  and-  lives  in  the  pre- 
sence of  God. 

The  real  evil  of  the  system  is  the  violent  contrast 
between  such  an  entirely  ideal  condition  and  the  reali- 


Nunneries.  367 

ties  of  the  world.  Many  French  girls  think  the  common 
world  so  wicked  that  they  utterly  refuse  to  enter  it,  and 
become  nuns.  Others  submit  to  marriage  as  a  part  of 
obedience  to  their  parents,  but  ever  afterwards,  though 
dutiful  to  their  husbands,  look  to  the  priest  and  not  the 
husband  as  the  true  friend  and  confidant.  All  that  can 
be  said  to  parents  who  are  grieved  when  their  daughters 
go  into  nunneries  is  that  it  is  a  very  natural  consequence 
of  their  education.  The  convent  is  the  continuation  of 
the  vie  de  jeune  fille  in  its  restriction,  protection,  severe 
rule,  and  devout  observances,  in  its  exclusion  of  all  men 
but  priests.  Of  the  life  that  women  lead  in  the  con- 
vents I  can  tell  the  reader  but  little.  It  varies  greatly 
according  to  the  orders.  In  some,  as  the  Carmelites, 
for  instance,  it  is  pitilessly  severe ;  in  others,  it  ap- 
proaches more  nearly  to  the  life  of  devout  ladies  in  a 
not  too  uncomfortable  home.  There  is  an  order  ol 
white  nuns  near  us,  closely  cloistered,  who  are  dressed 
like  phantoms,  and  worship  at  the  altar  day  and  night 
with  arms  extended  like  the  arms  of  Christ  upon  the 
cross.  When  utterly  overcome  by  weariness  and  pain 
they  still  keep  their  arms  in  the  same  extended  position, 
but  fall  down  prostrate  on  their  faces  on  the  cold  stone 
pavement  of  their  chapel.  The  austerity  of  the  Carme- 
lite sisters,  if  what  I  hear  of  them  is  true,  almost  passes 
belief,  but  I  hesitate  about  giving  details  which  cannot 
be  checked  by  my  own  personal  observation.  These 
ascetic  lives,  severed  from  all  the  interests  of  the  human 
world,  are  the  product  of  that  too  strict  and  too  artificial 
system  in  which  young  girls  are  educated.  Almost 
every  French  girl  who  is  bien  tfevte,  at  one  time  or  other 


TJie  Lower  Classes. 


passes  through  a  period  of  saintly  enthusiasm  which 
aspires  to  the  condition  of  a  nun  as  the  highest  possible* 
vocation. 

Amongst  the  lower  classes,  the  peasantry  and  work  - 
men,  it  would  of  course  be  utterly  impossible  to  keep  up 
a  system  of  this  kind.  In  these  classes  girls  have  as 
much  freedom  as  they  have  in  England.  The  great 
institution  of  the  parlement  gives  them  ample  opportu- 
nities for  becoming  acquainted  with  their  lovers  ;  indeed 
the  acquaintance,  in  many  cases,  goes  farther  than  is 
altogether  desirable.  A  peasant-girl  requires  no  parental 
help  in  looking  after  her  own  interests.  She  admits 
a  lover  to  the  happy  state  of  parlement,  which  means 
that  he  has  a  right  to  talk  with  her  when  they  meet, 
and  to  call  upon  her,  dance  with  her,  &c.  The  lover  is 
always  eager  to  fix  the  wedding-day,  the  girl  is  not 
so  eager.  She  keeps  him  on  indefinitely  until  a  richer 
one  appears,  on  which  No.  I  has  the  mortification  of 
seeing  himself  excluded  from  parlement,  whilst  another 
takes  his  place.  In  this  way  a  clever  girl  will  go  on  for 
several  years,  amusing  herself  by  torturing  amorous 
swains,  until  at  length  a  sufficiently  big  fish  nibbles 
at  the  bait,  when  she  hooks  him  at  once,  and  takes  good 
care  that  he  shall  not  escape.  Nothing  can  be  more 
pathetically  ludicrous  than  the  condition  of  a  young 
peasant  who  is  really  in  love,  especially  if  he  is  able  to 
write,  for  then  he  pours  forth  his  feelings  in  innumerable 
letters  full  of  tenderness  and  complaint.  On  her  part 
the  girl  does  not  answer  the  letters,  and  has  not  the 
slightest  pity  for  the  unhappy  victim  of  her  charms. 
After  seeing  a  good  deal  of  such  love  affairs  I  have 


Their  Love  Affairs.  369 


com.e  to  the  conclusion  that  in  humble  life  young  men 
do  really  very  often  feel 

The  hope,  the  fear,  the  jealous  care, 
The  exalted  portion  of  the  pain 
And  power  of  love. 

and  they  "  wear  the  chain  "  too.  Young  women,  on  the 
other  hand,  seem  only  to  amuse  themselves  with  all  this 
simple-hearted  devotion, — 

And  Mammon  wins  his  way  where  Seraphs  might  despair. 


370 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Some  Aspects  of  the  Franco-German  War — Condition  of  People's 
Minds — Sudden  Belief  in  the  Necessity  of  the  War — The 
Emperor's  Military  Reputation — Transition  from  Confidence 
to  Anxiety — The  Author's  Last  Sketch  from  Nature  in  1870 — 
Danger  of  Sketching — A  New  Interest  In  Maps — A  Difficult 
Time  —  The  Author's  House  in  Danger — Preparations  to 
receive  an  Attack — The  Author  denounced  as  a  Prussian 
Spy — He  is  defended  by  his  Friends — Birth  of  the  Republic — 
Napoleon  III. — Decline  of  his  Faculties — A  Curious  Coinci- 
dence— A  Reminiscence  of  1867 — The  Autumn  of  1870 — 
Anxieties — Conduct  of  the  Germans — How  they  behaved  in 
a  Country"  House — Arrival  of  Garibaldi — A  Review  by  Him — 
His  Flag — His  Character — His  Want  of  Tact — Composition 
of  His  Army — Disorders  at  the  Bishop's  Palace — The  French 
Franc-Tireurs — Clerical  and  National  Antipathy  to  Garibaldi 
— French  Jealousy  of  Allies. 

THE  leading  events  of  the  great  war  with  Germany 
must  be  so  familiar  to  every  reader  of  this  volume  that 
it  would  be  useless  to  fill  its  pages  with  a  narrative  of 
battles  and  skirmishes,  and  it  would  be  foreign  to  my 
plan  to  assume  what  is  called  the  dignity  of  history,  and 
record  stupendous  events.  Limited,  however,  as  the 
scheme  of  this  book  may  be,  there  are  certain  aspects 
of  the  war  which  come  fairly  within  its  range,  and  may 
be  treated  exactly  in  the  same  manner  as  the  various 
subjects  which  have  hitherto  occupied  us. 

Every  foreigner  who  lived  in  France  during  the  fort- 
night which  preceded  the  declaration  of  war  against 


Beginning  of  the   War  Fever.  371 

Prussia  will  long  remember  the  strange  condition  of 
people's  minds.  The  fever  seized  a  few  of  them  sud- 
denly, here  and  there,  and  these  few  passed  at  once 
from  the  reasonable  to  the  passionate  temper.  Eight 
or  ten  days  bfefore,  it  had  been  possible  to  discuss  Euro- 
pean politics  with  these  very  persons  as  tranquilly  aa 
those  of  the  continent  of  America  ;  but  now  an  idea 
had  taken  possession  of  them — the  idea  that  a  war  with 
Prussia  was  absolutely  inevitable,  and  that  to  think 
otherwise  was  evidence  of  a  want  of  confidence  in  the 
prowess  and  the  destiny  of  France.  The  kindest  and 
gentlest  of  civilians,  who  did  all  in  their  power  to  re- 
lieve whatever  misery  came  in  their  way,  entered  sud- 
denly into  that  exalted  mental  condition  in  which  the 
shedding  of  blood  and  the  infliction  of  torture  seem 
details  unworthy  of  consideration.  There  were  people 
certainly  (there  always  are  a  few  reasonable  persons  in 
times  of  national  excitement),  who  thought  that  the  dis- 
pute about  the  candidature  to  the  throne  of  Spain 
might  be  settled  without  killing  two  hundred  thousand 
men,  but  these  few  reasonable  persons  hardly  dared  to 
say  openly  what  they  thought.  They  were  like  heretics 
in  some  rigidly  orthodox  country,  and  had,  in  self- 
defence,  to  affect  to  share  the  opinions  which  sur- 
rounded them.  In  one  thing  all  French  people  really 
agreed  :  they  were  all  persuaded  that  their  army  was 
invincible.  The  prevalent  opinion,  too,  at  that  time, 
about  Napoleon  III.,  is  very  well  worth  recording.  At 
present  (after  the  event)  French  people  all  tell  you  that 
the  Emperor's  military  incapacity  was  notorious.  Well, 
so  it  was,  in  a  certain  peculiar  sense.  His  conduct  in 

B  6   2 


372  Opinions  about  Napoleon  III. 

the  war  of  1859  had  convinced  people  that  he  had  not 
the  rapid  decision  on  the  battle-field  which  is  necessary 
to  a  great  commander,  and  so  far  he  was  believed  to  be 
incapable.  But  Napoleon  III.  was  believed  by  his  sub- 
jects to  be  a  very  safe  administrator,  or  what  we  should 
call  a  good  war  minister.  In  this  character  he  inspired 
absolute  confidence.  Men  who  had  no  love  for  him — 
men  who  were  strongly  opposed  to  the  establishment 
of  his  dynasty,  and  who  were  much  more  inclined  to 
underrate  than  to  overestimate  his  abilities  in  ordinary 
matters — were  nevertheless  quite  firmly  persuaded  that 
he  would  not  enter  upon  a  great  contest  without  the 
most  exact  preparation  of  every  material  detail.  They 
told  anecdotes  in  illustration  of  his  perfect  foresight  and 
his  attention  to  little  things  :  how,  in  the  departure  for 
the  Italian  campaign,  the  artillery  (or  some  regiment  of 
artillery)  were  ordered  to  leave  certain  portions  of  the 
gun-carriages  in  Paris,  and  found,  to  their  surprise,  on 
arriving  in  Italy,  that  similar  portions  awaited  their 
coming,  but  all  quite  new,  and  fitting  without  a  fault. 
Then  it  was  remembered  how  regularly  the  army  had 
been  provisioned,  from  its  departure  to  the  very  day  of 
Solferino.  Not  only  had  the  soldiers  been  supplied 
with  every  necessary  of  life,  but  even  with  its  luxuries, 
so  that  they  never  missed  their  <:#//,  their  petit  verre,  and 
their  cheap  cigar  or  tobacco.  These  reminiscences  pro- 
duced the  most  absolute  reliance  on  the  readiness  of 
the  French  intendance.  This  absolutely  confident  tem- 
per was  not  without  its  grandeur.  When  war  was  de- 
clared, there  was  not  the  slightest  fear  of  invasion  - 
people  slept  quietly  in  open  villages  and  unfortified 


Transition  from  Confidence  to  Anxiety.         373 

towns,  without  dreaming  of  any  possibility  of 
danger. 

The  transition  from  confidence  to  anxiety  came 
gradually,  yet  rapidly,  during  the  two  or  three  weeks 
that  the  French  army  had  to  waste  about  Metz  and 
Strasburg,  when  it  lost  the  chance  of  taking  the  offen- 
sive, Private  letters  from  the  seat  of  war  spread  a 
vague  uneasiness.  We  knew  little,  at  that  time,  of  the 
condition  of  the  army,  but  we  were  aware  that  officers 
were  waiting  vainly  for  necessary  things.  Then  came 
the  beginning  of  the  invasion,  which  people  would  not 
believe. 

I  remember  one  day  well.  We  had  gone  on  a  little 
excursion  to  see  a  ruined  castle.  I  was  sketching  it, 
and  an  old  woman  came  to  tell  me  that  the  French 
army,  under  MacMahon,  had  been  defeated,  and  that 
the  enemy  was  advancing  rapidly ;  a  traveller  had  left 
the  news  at  her  cottage.  We  immediately  drove  home 
to  learn  the  truth,  and  met  mounted  gendarmes  gallop- 
ing at  full  speed  in  the  twilight.  And  so,  for  the  year 
1870,  ended  my  last  day's  study  from  nature.  The 
excitement  of  panic  began  to  get  possession  of  people's 
minds,  and  in  a  week  from  that  time  every  peasant  in 
the  whole  country  knew  that  I  had  been  drawing  that 
old  castle  "  for  the  Prussians."  It  was  amazing  how 
far  this  piece  of  information  spread.  It  covered  a  tract 
of  country  forty  miles  in  diameter,  and  from  that  day  it 
became  dangerous  to  be  seen  anywhere  with  a  sketch- 
book. A  French  artist  who  lived  in  the  town  escaped 
from  actual  outrage  by  nothing  but  that  presence  of 
mind  which  has  so  often,  in  an  emergency,  been  the 


374  Danger  of  Sketching. 


salvation  of  a  traveller  amongst  savages.  He  hap- 
pened, by  good  luck,  to  be  painting  from  nature  in  oil ; 
and  so,  in  answer  to  some  infuriated  peasants  who  ac- 
cused him  of  making  maps  for  the  Prussians,  he  said, 
"  Don't  you  see  that  I  cannot  be  making  a  map,  for  this 
is  oil-paint,  and  nobody  can  make  a  map  in  oil-paint." 
This  made  his  accusers  hesitate,  and  he  slipped  away 
whilst  they  gave  him  the  opportunity.  "  If  you  study 
from  nature  at  all,"  he  said,  "  mind  that  it  is  in  oil- 
colour  ;  and  use  canvas  and  a  portable  easel  ;  it  looks 
less  suspicious  than  a  sketch-book."  However,  it  seemed 
more  prudent  to  limit  my  studies  from  nature  to  the 
material  visible  from  my  own  windows,  and  a  little 
later  I  found  reason  to  congratulate  myself  on  this 
excessive  caution,  for  the  popular  indignation  was  fully 
roused  against  me,  and  the  slightest  additional  provoca- 
tion would  have  irritated  it  to  uncontrollable  frenzy. 
On  one  point  only  I  remained  attached  to  former 
habits.  There  was  just  one  German  in  the  town,  whom 
I  knew.  He  had  sometimes  come  to  see  me  before  the 
war,  but  now,  as  no  Frenchman  would  speak  to  him,  he 
came  to  my  house  more  frequently.  I  did  what  every 
Englishman  would  have  done  in  similar  circum- 
stances— that  is,  made  him  heartily  welcome  every  time 
he  came,  and  often  accompanied  him  back  to  his  own 
home.  This,  of  course,  cast  additional  suspicion  upon 
myself,  for  everybody  "  knew  "  that  he  was  a  spy  in  the 
pay  of  Bismarck.  Certainly,  he  and  I  had  more  accu- 
rate information  than  our  neighbours,  for  each  of  us 
subscribed  to  an  English  newspaper,  and  we  knew 
something  of  the  acfual  progress  of  the  invasion. 


Maps  become  too  Interesting.  375 

There  is  a  little  detail  peculiar  to  life  in  an  invaded 
country,  which  the  reader  may  realize  vividly  enough 
by  the  simple  process  of  substituting  one  map  for  an- 
other. The  wall  of  our  entrance  was  covered  with  maps 
of  the  seat  of  war.,  and  the  progress  of  the  invasion  was 
marked  upon  them  by  the  well-known  process  of  stick- 
ing pins  day  after  day  as  the  news  from  the  army  reached 
us.  This  was  done,  no  doubt,  at  the  same  time  by 
military  men  in  England,  and  by  civilians  who  took  an 
interest  in  military  matters  ;  but  there  is  a  great  differ- 
ence in  the  interest  of  the  process  when  it  is  carried  out 
in  countries  that  are,  or  are  not,  themselves  exposed  to 
invasion.  It  is  exactly  the  difference  between  examining 
one's  private  accounts  and  examining  the  accounts  of 
somebody  else  in  whose  affairs  we  have  nothing  but  an 
external  interest.  To  understand  the  peculiar  feelings 
with  which  we  altered  the  position  of  the  pins  as  soon 
as  the  day's  newspaper  had  come  to  hand,  the  reader  is 
requested  to  imagine  himself  a  resident  at,  let  us  say, 
Peterborough,  and  to  be  sticking  pins  every  morning  in 
a  map  of  England,  which  pins  make  plain  to  him  the 
steady,  irresistible  advance  of  a  French  army  already 
in  possession  of  Kent,  and  resolutely  advancing  upon 
London.  Under  these  circumstances  he  would  discover 
that  a  pennyworth  of  common  pins  would  very  soon 
make  themselves  the  pivots  of  all  his  thoughts,  and  that 
he  would  gain  an  acquaintance  with  the  geography  of 
certain  districts  incomparably  more  minute  than  is 
attainable  by  any  other  known  process,  except  that  of 
serving  upon  an  ordnance  survey.  O  those  dreadful 


376  A  Difficult  Time. 


n.aps  !  How  willingly  we  tore  them  all  down  when 
peace  was  proclaimed  at  last. 

my  German  friend  was  a  Badener,  and  perhaps  not 
very  enthusiastic  in  favour  of  Prussian  supremacy,  though 
he  counted  on  victory  for  the  Germans.,  The  suspicions 
against  him  grew  so  rapidly  that  in  a  week  or  two  it 
was  unsafe  for  him  to  be  seen  out  of  his  own  rooms. 
Even  the  most  intelligent  and  cultivated  townsmen 
were  fully  persuaded  that  he  was  a  spy,  but  they  did  not 
wish  to  do  him  bodily  harm,  only  to  get  him  out  of  the 
place  that  he  might  spy  no  longer.  The  populace, 
more  menacing  and  dangerous,  decided  that  he  ought 
to  be  lynched.  The  police  told  him  that  his  life  was 
not  safe,  and  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  protect  him  if 
he  stayed.  On  this  he  took  the  next  train,  and  arrived 
safely  at  the  Lake  of  Constance. 

Besides  this  Badener  an  intelligent  and  well-educated 
American  had  settled  in  the  town  before  the  war  broke 
out.  He  spoke  French,  English,  and  Italian  as  nearly 
perfectly  as  any  one  possibly  can  speak  three  languages, 
but  he  did  not  speak  German,  and  had  never  been  in 
Germany.  However,  as  he  was  a  foreigner,  it  was  soon 
decided  that  he  also  was  a  German  spy.  We  occasion- 
ally exchanged  visits,  but  one  day  when  I  went  to  see 
my  American  friend  I  was  told  that  he  had  suddenly 
left  for  Florence,  and  was  not  likely  to  return.  He,  also, 
had  received  his  warning,  and  I  expected  mine  from 
one  day  to  another. 

The  most  difficult  time  to  pass,  on  account  of  the 
violent  popular  excitement,  was  from  the  early  part  of 
August  to  the  fourth  of  September.  About  the  middle 


A  Dangerous  Incident.  377 

of  August  an  incident  occurred  which  might  have  had 
unpleasant  consequences.  A  French  widow  lady,  a 
friend  of  ours,  happened  to  be  staying  with  us  just  then, 
and  she  was  in  a  state  of  considerable  anxiety  about 
her  son,  for  there  were  rumours  that  even  the  eldest 
sons  of  widows  would  be  called  to  active  service  like 
the  rest.  She  had  the  strongest  dislike  to  the  Imperial 
Government,  and  with  good  reason,  in  her  case,  for  the 
coup  d'e'tat  had  done  great  injury  to  her  friends,  sacri- 
ficing the  life  of  one  of  them,  and  driving  the  others 
into  exile.  Well,  it  so  happened  that  one  sultry  August 
evening  we  were  sauntering  out  together,  and  we  met 
one  of  our  neighbours,  a  man  not  remarkable  at  the  best 
of  times  for  much  delicacy  of  manner,  and  just  now 
quite  peevish  and  ill-natured  from  the  course  that  things 
were  evidently  taking.  He  had  been  hearing  some 
disagreeable  news,  and  so  came  straight  to  us  and  an- 
nounced in  a  tone  of  triumph  that  all  widows'  sons  would 
be  immediately  compelled  to  serve  in  the  active  army. 
The  effect  of  this  announcement,  made  so  rudely  to  a 
lady  who  had  been  in  great  anxiety  for  weeks  on  this 
particular  subject,  may  be  easily  imagined.  A  great 
scene  took  place,  in  which  things  were  said  amounting 
to  treason  against  the  Emperor,  and  which  might  be 
malevolently,  though  not  justly,  reported  as  evidences  of 
hostility  to  France.  Our  neighbour  replied,  in  mingled 
rage  and  bitterness,  as  if  he  had  understood  them  in 
that  sense,  and  unfortunately,  just  at  that  very  moment, 
two  labouring  men  passed  close  to  us  as  they  crossed 
the  fields  by  a  pathway  that  led  to  their  village.  There 
they  recounted  what  they  had  heard,  and  recounted  it 


3 7$  A   Friendly   Warning. 

after  their  own  fashion,  so  in  the  course  of  the  same 
evening  it  was  "  known  "  all  over  the  neighbourhood,  on 
the  evidence  of  these  two  witnesses,  how  our  friend  had 
expressed  her  earnest  wish  that  "  no  conscript  who  left 
the  "village  might  ever  come  back  alive}1  The  reader  may 
imagine  the  effect  of  this  upon  a  French  populace  al- 
ready excited  beyond  endurance.  The  women,  whose 
sons  were  the  conscripts  in  question,  became  like  so 
many  Furies,  and  incited  their  husbands  to  revenge. 
There  were  about  three  hundred  miners  in  the  place, 
who  worked  in  the  schist-mines,  and  as  these  men 
drank  in  the  wine-shops  that  night  they  adopted  certain 
resolutions. 

Now  there  happened  to  be  amongst  these  miners  a 
young  man  who  had  lived  close  to  me  for  several  years, 
and  who  had  worked  a  good  deal  for  me  at  odd  times. 
His  name  was  Jules,  and  as  he  had  been  in  Paris  and 
seen  the  world,  he  was  much  sharper  and  more  intelli- 
gent than  the  French  peasant  usually  is  when  he  lives 
entirely  in  the  country.  So  he  kept  his  own  counsel 
amongst  his  comrades,  but  the  next  day,  as  I  was 
sitting  reading  my  newspaper  in  an  arbour  in  the 
garden,  I  heard  a  rustling  in  the  shrubs  behind  me, 
and  a  human  head  emerged  from  them,  which  I  recog- 
nized as  belonging  to  my  friend  Jules.  His  face  was 
deadly  pale,  and  he  spoke  only  in  a  whisper.  "  I 
shouldn't  like  it  to  be  known,  sir,  that  I  came  here  to- 
day, and  I  must  slip  away  as  I  came,  without  letting 
anybody  catch  a  sight  of  me,  or  else  it  might  be  a  bad 
job  for  me,  but  I  could  not  rest  without  coming  to  tell 
you  what  the  miners  said  amongst  themselves  last 


The  Author  Prepares  for  Self -Defence.         379 

night.  I  would  have  come  sooner  if  I  had  had  an 
opportunity,  but  I  never  could  manage  it  without  being 
watched.  They  have  determined  to  come  and  murder 

Madame  G ,  and  pillage  your  house  this  afternoon. 

I  saw  B charge  his  pistol,  saying,  '  This  bullet  is 

for  Madajne  G .'  He  will  be  here  with  the  others 

in  about  an  hour.  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  tell  you,  so 
that  you  might  get  her  out  of  the  way." 

Having  duly  delivered  himself  of  this  agreeable 
piece  of  information,  Jules  disappeared  again  amongst 
the  shrubs,  and  crept  along  a  hedge-bottom  till  I  saw 
no  more  of  him.  The  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  get  all 
women  and  children  out  of  the  house,  and  send  Madame 

G to  her  own  '  home  by  railway.  Next  (like 

Robinson  Crusoe  in  his  castle)  I  got  together  every- 
thing I  possessed  in  the  nature  of  fire-arms,  and  pre- 
pared to  resist  the  enemy.  I  was  soon  armed  like  a 
brigand,  with  everything  loaded  that  would  send  a 
bullet.  Then,  with  locked  doors  and  shutters  fastened, 
I  sat  waiting  for  the  attack,  having  no  other  ally  than 
my  big  dog,  who  at  that  time  was  fierce  enough.  It  is 
a  pity,  after  such  a  dramatic  beginning  to  end  with- 
out gratifying  the  reader  with  at  least  one  homicide, 
but  unluckily  for  the  interest  of  my  story,  the  project 
of  attack  was  abandoned  when  it  became  known 
that  our  guest  had  departed.  I  am  not  likely,  how- 
ever,' soon  to  forget  the  couple  of  hours  spent  in 
waiting  for  the  mob,  during  which  I  tried  to  read,  but 
found  real  life  so  interesting  that  it  was  difficult  to 
give  attention  to  a  book. 

Just  about  this  time  I  was  denounced  to  the  autho- 


380  Friends  and  Enemies. 

rities  as  a  Prussian  spy,  but  I  had  lived  too  long  in 
the  neighbourhood,  and  knew  too  many  influential 
people,  for  an  accusation  of  that  kind  to  take  effect 
No  foreigner  who  had  settled  here  recently,  could  have 
remained  throughout  the  war ;  but  the  upper  classes, 
with  one  single  exception,  stood  by  me  quite  kindly 
and  faithfully,  doing  everything  in  their  power  to  pro- 
tect me  from  the  common  people.  Two  ladies  were  so 
good  as  to  go  amongst  the  poor  and  try  to  produce  a 
more  favourable  impression.  An  old  gentleman,  who 
was  the  largest  landowner  in  the  neighbourhood,  and 
deservedly  respected  for  the  good  he  had  done  in 
various  ways,  showed  himself  very  heartily  my  friend. 
The  principal  schist-master  got  his  workmen  together 
and  made  them  an  energetic  speech,  in  which  he  said 
everything  in  favour  of  me  that  generous  good  feeling 
could  suggest.  Meanwhile,  my  wife  and  I  went  out 
every  day  for  short  walks  and  drives  so  that  everybody 
might  see  us.  The  courteous  French  custom  of  salu- 
tation compelled  even  our  worst  enemies  to  lift  their 
hats  to  us  from  habit,  and  this  gave  us  the  opportunity 
of  speaking  to  those  we  knew,  as  we  used  to  do  before 
the  war  began.  In  this  way  we  tided  over  the  most 
difficult  weeks,  which  were  those  between  Weissemberg 
and  Sedan.  Strangely  enough,  our  most  dangerous 
enemy  for  the  time  being  was  an  excellent,  but  rather 
simple-minded,  country  squire,  with  whom  we  had 
been  on  the  best  of  terms  before  the  war  began.  He 
went  about  telling  people  that  the  popular  rumour  was 
not  likely  to  be  altogether  without  foundation,  and  that 
I  was  in  the  constant  habit  of  sending  things  by  post, 


Birth  of  the  Republic.  381 


which  were  not  simply  letters,  and  must  be  plans  and 
information  for  the  enemy.  What  made  these  sugges- 
tions the  more  dangerous  was  that  the  old  gentleman 
in  question  was  maire  of  the  very  commune  I  lived  in, 
and  so  might  be  supposed  to  know  more  about  me 
than  another ;  besides  which  his  official  position  gave 
him  an  engine  of  hostility  against  me,  if  ever  he  felt  it 
advisable  to  proceed  to  extremities.  But  even  in  this 
case  there  was  only  doubt  and  suspicion,  not  any  real 
malice,  and  after  inquiry  the  maire  became  finally  quite 
convinced  of  my  innocence,  and  atoned  for  his  suspi- 
cions in  a  manly  and  becoming  way.  He  came  to  pay 
us  a  state  call,  with  his  wife  and  sons,  in  his  carriage, 
all  in  grande  toilette,  and  was  as  amiable  as  he  possibly 
could  be.  No  allusion  was  made  to  the  unpleasant 
rumours  that  had  been  in  circulation,  but  the  carriage 
stood  for  nearly  an  hour  at  my  door,  and  this  was  his 
way  of  telling  people  that  I  was  not  to  be  suspected 
any  longer.  He  has  been  a  good  neighbour  ever  since, 
but  however  agreeable  may  be  his  visits  in  time  of 
peace,  they  have  not  the  political  value  of  that  state 
call  in  the  height  of  the  war  fever. 

After  Sedan,  the  news  of  the  birth  of  the  Republic 
came  to  us  in  the  oddest,  most  ridiculous  way  that  can 
be  imagined.  A  peasant  woman  whom  we  knew  came 
rushing  into  our  kitchen  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
sobbing  and  wringing  her  hands,  and  yelling  out  at 
the  top  of  her  voice  "  Elle  est  ddchainde,  elle  est 
dechainee  ! "  My  wife,  hearing  this  noise,  went  to  see 
what  was  the  matter,  and  the  same  phrase  was  repeated 
for  her  benefit,  "Elle  est  dechainee,  elle  est  dechainee  t" 


382  Napoleon  III. 

She  thought  some  wild  beast  must  have  broken  loose, 
and  asked  what  beast  it  was.  "  La  Re — pub — lique  !" 
was  the  answer. 

On  hearing  this  we  first  laughed  till  the  tears  came 
into  our  eyes,  and  then  cried  "  Vive  la  Republique ! " 
and  I  sang  with  a  loud  voice, "  Domine  salvam  fac  Rem- 
publicam,  et  exaudi  nos  in  die  qua  vocaverimus  te  /  " 

A  very  distinguished  French  prelate,  who  is  now 
dead,  told  an  intimate  friend  of  mine  that  when  the 
Archbishop  of  Paris  congratulated  the  Emperor  on  a 
recent  escape  from  a  great  personal  danger,  Napoleon 
III.  answered  in  tones  of  the  most  solemn  conviction, 
"  My  hour  is  not  yet  come,  but  when  my  hour  shall 
come  I  shall  be  broken  like  glass!  "  In  the  beginning  of 
September,  1870,  the  fatal  hour  arrived,  and  the  Colossus 
which  had  overawed  Europe  fell  shattered  from  his 
pedestal. 

The  same  prelate  visited  our  neighbourhood  some 
time  after  the  fall  of  the  Empire,  and  said  that  having 
known  Napoleon  in  Paris  and  seen  him  afterwards  dur- 
ing the  campaign,  just  before  the  movement  in  the 
direction  of  Sedan,  he  had  been  very  painfully  impressed 
on  the  latter  occasion  by  the  evident  decline  in  the 
mental  faculties  of  the  Emperor.  A  friend  of  mine 
who  visited  the  Emperor  a  short  time  before  the  war 
broke  out,  told  me  that  Louis  Napoleon  had  not  only 
greatly  aged,  but  had  lost  the  charm  of  his  manner, 
and  appeared  almost  inanimate.  This  was  the  more 
painful  that  his  corpse-like  cheeks  had  been  visibly 
rouged  for  the  occasion,  and  as  he  had  just  left  his 
hair-dresser,  there  was  a  perfection  in  the  toilette  which 


Napoleon  HI.  383 

jarred  upon  the  feelings  of  all  present.  The  fault  of  his 
government,  which  for  many  years  had  been  constantly 
attacked  for  being  a  "  personal  government,"  was  in 
later  times  the  fault  of  not  being  personal  enough. 
The  gradual  ebbing  of  vitality  translated  itself  by  an 
increasing  intellectual  indolence,  and  a  disposition  to 
trust  everything  to  subordinates,  which  was  the  exact 
opposite  of  that  personal  watchfulness  over  details  that 
formed  part  of  the  character  and  habits  of  the  first 
Napoleon,  and  was  one  of  the  causes  of  his  success. 

I  may  mention  in  this  place  a  most  curious  coinci- 
dence which  I  believe  has  never  been  noticed  elsewhere. 
An  illustrated  French  newspaper,  the  Univers  Illustrt, 
gave  a  woodcut  representing  the  departure  of  Napoleon 
III.  from  the  private  station  at  St.  Cloud,  and  the  same 
number  contained,  a  little  farther  on,  a  woodcut  repre- 
senting the  German  palace  of  Wilhelmshohe.  The 
French  editor  believed  that  Cassel  would  shortly 
become  "  interesting  in  connection  with  the  war,"  but 
little  foresaw  the  kind  of  interest  which  would  attach 
to  it. 

When  once  the  Emperor  had  arrived  at  his  luxurious 
prison  of  Wilhelmshohe  nobody  thought  about  him  any 
more.  He  was  really  more  forgotten  at  that  time  than 
he  is  likely  to  be  in  the  future,  for  with  all  his  faults  he 
will  for  ever  remain  one  of  the  most  remarkable  curi- 
osities of  history.  But  the  French,  as  I  have  said 
elsewhere,  have  not  the  monarchical  sentiment,  and 
Louis  Napoleon  had  not  succeeded  in  creating  it.  The 
last  time  I  saw  him  was  in  1867.  His  carriage  came 
slowly  down  the  Champs  Elyse"es  ;  a  crowd  was  seated 


384  An  Anxious  Time. 


on  each  side  the  avenue,  yet  nobody  rose,  and  not  a 
hat  was  lifted.  The  feeling  about  Louis  Napoleon  at 
that  time  was  a  feeling  of  indifference,  such  as  we  have 
towards  some  old  abuse  which,  though  it  may  not  be 
removed  this  year  or  the  next,  is  certain  to  be  cleared 
away  before  long,  by  the  inevitable  progress  of  events. 

The  autumn  of  1870,  during  the  steady  progress  of 
the  invasion,  was  a  time  of  much  anxiety  in  ojr  part 
of  the  country,  because  it  was  always  probable  that  we 
should  be  included  in  the  space  occupied  by  the  enemy. 
In  one  respect  we  were  more  unfortunate  than  the  in- 
habitants of  regions  actually  invaded,  for  we  were  kept 
incessantly,  during  the  whole  war,  on  the  tenterhooks 
of  apprehension.  The  southern  departments  never 
seriously  apprehended  invasion  for  themselves,  and 
felt  the  evil  only  as  people  feel  the  evils  of  others,  ex- 
cept so  far  as  it  affected  trade  ;  whilst  the  departments 
quite  to  the  east,  which  were  occupied  by  the  enemy  in 
the  early  part  of  the  campaign,  had  to  do  with  the  in- 
vasion as  a  present  and  practical  evil,  and  were,  there- 
fore, relieved,  by  its  very  reality,  from  the  miseries  of 
incessant  forebodings.  The  reader  may  possibly  enter 
into  our  feelings,  such  as  they  were  at  that  time  ;  but 
he  will  only  be  able  to  do  so  by  a  very  strong  effort 
of  imagination.  Let  him  suppose  himself  comfortably 
settled  in  an  English  country-house,  unpretending,  if 
he  will,  but  provided  with  everything  necessary  to  the 
regular  and  peaceful  course  of  his  life  and  occupations 
— let  him  suppose  that  he  has  spent  on  this  house  and 
what  it  contains  a  good  deal  of  money  relatively  to  his 
means,  and  that  amongst  its  contents  are  many  things 


Conduct  of  the  German  Soldiers.  385 


which  he  values  greatly,  and  which,  once  destroyed,  can 
never  possibly  be  replaced.  Then  let  him  imagine  that 
he  awakes  every  morning  for  months  together  with  the 
possibility  before  him  that  in  a  few  days,  or  even  hours, 
his  house  may  be  occupied  by  the  rough  soldiers  of  u 
hostile  army,  who  will  probably  carry  off  half  his  things 
and  sr.oil  the  rest,  whilst  it  is  the  merest  chance  whether 
they  will  behave  to  his  wife  and  family  like  gentlemen 
or  like  brigands.  To  leave  your  home  in  such  a  time 
is  to  expose  it  to  certain  pillage  ;  to  remain  in  it  is  to 
run  the  risk,  though  only  a  risk,  of  yet  more  serious 
evils.  The  English  newspapers  whose  sympathies  were  on 
the  side  of  Germany  during  the  war,  described  the  conduct 
of  the  German  soldiery  in  the  most  favourable  terms,  and 
it  may  be  true  that,  on  the  whole,  they  behaved  better 
than  is  the  custom  of  invaders,  but  this  did  not  much 
lessen  'our  anxiety,  because  we  knew  that  their  conduct 
varied  in  different  cases.  Some  houses  occupied  by 
them  were  left  uninjured,  and  the  householder  escaped 
with  a  heavy  fine  in  the  shape  of  requisitions,  often  out 
of  all  proportion  to  his  means ;  but  others  saw  their 
dwellings  devastated  as  if  out  of  mere  hate  and  spite. 
Without  going  to  the  newspapers  for  evidence  of  this, 
I  will  give  an  instance  nearer  hand.  My  wife's  uncle,  who 
lived  in  Dijon,  had  a  small  country  house  on  the  hill- 
side in  the  middle  of  a  large  garden.  This  place  nad  been 
his  hobby  for  many  years,  so  when  the  Germans  occu- 
pied it,  he  did  all  he  could  to  prevent  them  from  in- 
juring it.  He  supplied  them  with  unlimited  fire-wood, 
and  promised  to  supply  more  if  required,  but  they  pre- 
ferred cutting  down  his  fruit-trees  and  burning  the  green 

c 


386  A   Strategic  Position. 


wood  because  they  knew  it  would  vex  him.  They  also 
smashed  his  mirrors  and  destroyed  his  furniture  on 
purpose.  Besides  the  prospect  of  these  annoyances,  we 
had  before  us  the  probability  that  forty  or  fifty  German 
soldiers  would  be  billeted  on  us,  to  be  kept  in  the  most 
liberal  manner  at  our  expense,  and  that  at  a  time  when 
provisions  were  at  the  most  impossible  prices,  so  that 
the  cost  of  living  was  tripled.  There  remained  yet 
another  possibility  of  evil.  Our  house  was  so  situated 
that  it  might  very  easily  be  included  in  the  middle  of 
a  battle-field,  and  occupied  by  one  side  or  the  other,  if 
not  by  both  in  succession.  Under  certain  circumstances, 
not  difficult  to  foresee,  it  would  become  of  considerable 
strategic  importance  if  the  combat  took  place  in  the 
plain.  In  that  case  the  walls  could  be  pierced  for  rifles, 
the  rooms  filled  with  soldiers,  and  (on  a  small  scale)  a 
scene  might  be  enacted  round  about  it  like  the  episode 
of  Hougomont,  at  Waterloo.  That  these  apprehensions 
were  not  altogether  groundless  may  be  proved  by  the 
remark  of  an  artilleryman  whose  battery  I  visited  when 
the  war  had  come  quite  close  to  us.  The  guns  were 
pointed,  ready  shotted,  straight  in  the  direction  of  my 
house.  I  noted  the  fact  jestingly,  on  which  an  artillery- 
man answered,  quite  in  earnest, "  Our  guns  can  easily  carry 
as  far  as  your  house,  sir,  and  this  battery  may  turn  out 
to  be  very  useful  if  your  house  should  be  occupied  by 
the  enemy."  I  may  also  observe  that  my  apprehensions 
about  piercing  the  walls  for  rifles  were  realized  in  the 
case  of  one  of  my  neighbours,  whose  house  was  turned 
into  a  military  position  and  pierced  with  a  hundred 
loopholes. 


T/ie  Garibaldians.  387 


Garibaldi  came  into  our  neighbourhood  very  suddenly 
and  unexpectedly  one  cold,  wintry  night.  I  happened 
to  be  in  the  town  that  evening,  and  about  nine  o'clock 
a  rumour  began  to  circulate  to  the  effect  that  Garibaldi 
was  on  his  way  and  would  sleep  that  night  at  the  sous- 
prefecture.  About  half-past  nine  a  crowd  began  to  col- 
lect about  the  railway  station,  and  a  shabby  one-horse 
carriage  came  to  receive  the  soldier  of  Italian  independ- 
ence, who  was  much  too  unpopular  with  the  clerical 
party  to  be  noticed  by  the  local  aristocracy.  First  came 
a  train  full  of  Garibaldians ;  the  chief  himself  arrived 
much  later.  The  men  who  preceded  him  were  the 
flower  of  his  little  army — the  "  children,"  not  to  be  con- 
founded with  the  volunteers  of  all  kinds  who  joined  the 
army  of  the  Vosges.  They  formed  in  the  garden  behind 
the  railway  station,  and  the  first  thing  that  struck  me 
was  the  extreme  inequality  of  their  stature.  I  had  seen 
tall  regiments  and  short  regiments,  but  never  a  body  of 
soldiers  in  which  astonishingly  tall  men  and  miniature 
beings,  who  looked  like  little  boys,  were  so  oddly 
jumbled  together.  The  commanding  officer  asked  me 
the  way  to  the  H6tel  de  Ville,  and  then  begged  me  to 
lead  the  regiment  there  myself,  so  we  marched  into  the 
town  together  to  the  sound  of  the  wild  Garibaldian 
music  in  the  dark  windy  night.  When  we  got  to  our 
destination,  I  could  see  the  men  better  under  the  gas- 
light; they  were  smart  and  tidy-looking,  in  new  uniforms, 
and  they  had  just  been  armed  with  new  Remington 
rifles,  in  which  they  took  a  boyish  pleasure  and  pride. 
Poor  lads  !  how  many  of  them  died  of  hardship  and 
disease  in  a  few  weeks  ?  I  thought,  as  I  saw  them  lie 

C  C  2 


3$8  Arrival  of  Garribaldi. 

down  wearily  on  the  straw,  how  delicate  many  of  them 
were,  only  boys  yet,  and  not  robust  boys  either,  having 
nothing  to  resist  the  fatigues  of  a  winter  campaign  but  a 
lively  courage,  and  a  firm  faith  in  the  genius  of  their 
commander. 

He  came  at  last,  the  commander,  the  most  romantic 
hero  of  our  century,  the  most  famous  human  being  on 
the  planet,  the  leader  most  sure  of  living  in  the  hearts 
of  future  generations,  a  living  man  whose  legend  is 
already  as  firmly  implanted  as  that  of  Wallace  or 
William  Tell,  whilst  the  severest  historical  critics  of  the 
future  will  be  unable  to  deny  either  the  reality  of  his 
exploits  or  the  originality  of  his  character.  Who  shall 
say  that  Garibaldi  was  not  brave,  disinterested,  patient 
under  suffering,  a  living  Don  Quixote,  with  all  the  fine 
and  noble  qualities  with  which  Cervantes  endowed  his 
hero  and  just  enough  of  his  simplicity  to  be  beloved  for 
it  ?  A  living  Don  Quixote  !  I  repeat  in  all  earnestness 
and  respect,  and  yet  there  is  this  difference  between  the 
two,  that  whereas  Sancho's  master  tilted  against  wind- 
mills and  effected  no  practical  good,  the  Italian  Quixote 
set  lance  in  rest  against  a  tyrannical  dynasty  and  shat- 
tered it  past  all  possibility  of  restoration.  Afterwards 
it  is  true  that  he  tilted  against  the  temporal  power  of 
the  Papacy  and  there  came  to  grief,  but  if  that  adven- 
ture did  not  upset  the  windmill,  it  shook  it,  and  the 
windmill  has  rallen  since. 

When  this  hero  came  amongst  us  and  walked  through 
the  station  to  his  one-horse  carriage  we  saw  his  face 
very  clearly  in  the  gas-light.  It  was  a  pale,  grave  face, 
much  more  like  that  of  a  student  and  philosopher  than 


Clerical  Horror  of  Garibaldi.  389 

a  hero  of  great  exploits.  We  cried  Vive  Garibaldi! 
with  some  energy,  but  he  answered  with  a  tone  of 
extreme  gravity  and  sadness  "  Vive  la  Rfyublique  Fran- 
$aise  !  "  We  thought  they  might  have  given  him  a  pair 
of  horses  and  even  perhaps  a  little  glorification  of  torch- 
light and  of  music,  but  that  simplicity  harmonized  well 
enough  with  his  personal  character  and  habits,  and  also 
with  the  serious  anxieties  of  the  time. 

It  is  difficult  for  Protestants  to  realize  the  unaffected 
horror  with  which  the  clergy  and  religious  corporations 
of  an  old  French  cathedral  city  must  have  heard  on 
awakening  one  morning  in  November,  1870,  that  this 
Garibaldi,  who  at  a  distance  was  to  them  like  a  rock  in 
the  deep  sea,  or  like  Satan  chained  during  the  millen- 
nium, was  now  actually  in  the  midst  of  them,  and  their 
absolute  master,  being  invested  with  all  the  despotic 
authority  of  a  general  in  time  of  war. 

The  day  after  his  arrival  Garibaldi  held  a  little  review, 
and  sat  in  a  carriage  whilst  his  regiments  marched  past, 
for  other  regiments  had  arrived  during  the  morning,  and 
train  after  train  poured  thousands  of  men  into  the  place. 
There  was  unfolded  his  own  personal  Garibaldian  flag, 
an  invention  of  his  own,  a  very  original  invention  too, 
and  one  not  by  any  means  calculated  to  reassure  the 
lovers  of  tranquillity.  It  was  all  red,  to  begin  with,  red 
as  the  sanguinary  Revolution,  and  this  is  a  colour  which 
the  lovers  of  order  admire  only  when  it  is  worn  by  the 
Princes  of  the  Church.  On  the  flag  were  none  of  the 
devices  of  heraldry,  no  lions,  nor  eagles,  nor  any  such 
picturings  of  the  old  illiterate  ages,  but  a  single  word, 
in  great  legible  Roman  capitals,  and  the  word  was — 


390  Garibaldi's  Flag  "  Patatrac." 


PATATRAC* 

If  we  had  any  illusions  about  Garibaldi  they  must 
have  been  dissipated  by  having  him  so  near  us,  and 
hearing  everything  that  the  bitterest  antagonism  could 
find  to  say  against  him.  For  my  part,  I  venture  to 
affirm  that  I  never  had  any  illusions  about  Garibaldi. 
Men  of  .his  class  cannot  possibly  be  reasonable,  heroism 
is  not  reasonable,  it  is  pure  passion,  a  fire  which  casts 
strong  lights  and  very  black  shadows  upon  everything 

*  As  this  narrative  is  written  for  English  readers  it  may  be  well 
to  attempt  an  explanation  of  what  this  strange  word  means.  The 
form  of  it  most  commonly  recognized  by  the  dictionaries  appears 
to  be  not  Patatrac  but  Patatras  ;  however,  Garibaldi's  form,  with 
the  hard  looking  consonant  at  the  end  is  used  often  enough  by 
French  people  when  they  talk  familiarly  and  is,  I  think,  the  more 
expressive,  by  its  cacophony,  of  the  two.  It  is  an  ejaculation, 
intended  to  convey  (which  it  does  very  effectually  by  imitative 
sound)  the  impression  of  confusion  in  falling.  For  example,  sup- 
pose that  a  Frenchman  were  to  narrate  some  accident  like  the  fol- 
lowing, the  word  would  come  in  quite  naturally:  "  the  servant  was 
bringing  a  tray  covered  with  glasses  into  the  drawing-room,  when 
his  foot  caught  in  the  edge  of  the  carpet,  and  Patatrac !  he  fell 
forward  and  all  the  glasses  were  broken."  What  Garibaldi  meant 
by  it  was  as  plain  as  the  great  legible  letters  of  which  the  terrible 
word  was  composed.  He  meant  that  wherever  that  scarlet  banner 
was  unfolded  there  would  be  an  overthrow  of  old-world  institutions, 
with  noisy  confusion  and  smashing.  It  was  a  proclamation  of 
disorder  and  destruction,  and  the  proclamation  was  so  alarmingly 
laconic  that  there  was  no  room  in  it  for  any  hint  of  a  new  and 
better  order  to  be  erected  on  a  world  in  ruins.  And  vhen  at  a 
later  period  I  heard  of  the  smashing  and  crashing  that  was  effected 
on  so  large  a  scale  by  the  Communards,  of  the  falling  of  ruined 
palaces  and  streets,  of  the  upsetting  of, the  Vendome  column,  I 
said  "  This  is  Garibaldi's  PATATRAC"  and  that  word  on  the  banner 
which  flapped  in  the  November  wind  seemed  a  word  of  baleful 
prophecy,  a  sinister  suggestion  of  all  the  evil  that  was  to  come. 


Garibaldis   Want  of  Tact.  391 

around  it.  Least  of  all  can  those  heroes  be  reasonable 
who  live  in  the  heat  of  action.  It  may  be  said  that 
Wellington  was  so,  but  had  Wellington  the  genuine 
heroic  temper  ?  Was  he  not  rather  a  prudent  and  prac- 
tical general,  with  very  fine  powers  of  mind  and  body, 
than  a  hero  ?  Had  he  not  rather  the  firm  prose  of  mili- 
tary valour  than  its  fiery  inspiration  ?  Garibaldi  is  not 
wise,  Garibaldi  is  not  even  intelligent,  whilst  he  is  far 
indeed  from  being  intellectual ;  but  he  is  as  perfect  a 
type  of  genuine,  believing  heroism  as  the  world  has 
ever  beheld.  And  the  consequence  is,  that  his  name  is 
immortal,  whilst  the  names  of  a  hundred  generals  not 
less  brave  than  he  is,  and  much  more  learned  in  their 
art  than  he  has  ever  been,  are  as  mortal  as  their  own 
bodies,  and  destined,  like  them,  to  imminent  oblivion. 

An  excellent  instance  of  his  utter  want  of  tact 
occurred  on  the  very  first  day  of  his  residence  in  our 
neighbourhood.  He  held  a  reception  at  the  .Sous  Pre- 
fecture, which  was  attended  by  a  good  many  men  and 
also  by  some  ladies  who  had  the  courage  to  brave 
public  opinion  and  pay  their  respects  to  the  representa- 
tive of  everything  that  is  infamous.  He  received  them 
very  gracefully  ;  he  has  a  natural  kindness  and  softness 
which  renders  his  manners  very  agreeable  to  women, 
but  he  thought  the  occasion  a  good  one  for  having  a 
shot  at  his  betes  noires,  the  ecclesiastics,  and  so  actually 
lectured  these  ladies  on  their  too  great  submission  to 
the  priesthood.  This  was  a  fault  of  tact  for  two  reasons  ; 
in  the  first  place,  the  ladies  in  question  had  given  strong 
proof  of  their  independence  of  priestly  authority  by 
coming  to  see  Garibaldi,  and  therefore  did  not  either 
need  or  deservr  the  lesson ;  and  in  the  second  place  his 


392  The  Garibaldian  Army. 

observations  strengthened  the  very  authority  he  desired 
to  weaken,  for  they  alarmed  all  who  were  afraid  of  the 
opinions  of  society,  a  large  majority  amongst  women. 
It  was  not  possible  for  Garibaldi  to  make  the  priesthood 
dotest  him  more  bitterly  j  but  it  was  not  necessary  to 
frighten  the  ladies. 

Garibaldi's  little  army  was  composed  of  very  hetero- 
geneous materials.  He  said  that  his  men  were  the  elite 
des  nations,  and  it  is  quite  true  that  there  were  some 
very  fine  fellows  amongst  them,  but  there  were  also 
hundreds  of  rascals  who  ought  to  have  been  in  prison, 
and  kept  there,  for  the  safety  of  society.  There  was 
especially  a  legion  of  sharpshooters  from  Marseilles, 
whose  conception  of  military  discipline  was  that  they 
were  to  do  just  as  they  liked.  They  were  armed,  of 
course,  and  with  good  weapons,  so  that  no  civilian  had 
a  chance  against  them.  By  a  singularly  injudicious 
arrangement  these  very  Marseilles  fellows  were  sent  to 
lodge  at  the  bishop's  palace.  Now  there  was  a  story 
current  that  the  prelate,  on  his  return  from  the  great 
Vatican  Council,  had  brought  amongst  his  baggage 
several  packing-cases  filled  with  military  weapons,  to 
be  used  for  no  good  purpose ;  and  so,  as  these  free- 
shooters  found  themselves  at  night  in  the  very  building 
where  these  weapons  were  said  to  be  concealed,  they 
thought,  or  affected  to  think,  that  it  would  be  a  good 
opportunity  to  ascertain  the  truth  of  the  story  by  a 
strict  search  over  the  whole  building.  This  they  exe- 
cuted with  more  zeal  than  consideration,  making  a  good 
deal  of  noise,  and  frightening  the  unarmed  inhabitants 
of  the  building,  so  that  one  of  the  servants  jumped  out 
of  a  window  and  sprained  his  ankle.  The  soldiers  went 


Incident  at  t/u-  Bisliop's  Palace.  393 


into  the  bishop's  own  bedchamber  and  made  a  thorough 
search,  to  his  annoyance.  Amongst  this  disturbance  a 
small  gold  cross  disappeared.  The  incident,  much 
exaggerated,  was  circulated  by  the  clerical  press  all 
over  Europe,  and  English  Protestant  newspapers,  with 
that  curious  facility  which  so  often  makes  them  serve 
Roman.  Catholic  purposes,  without  being  aware  of  it, 
repeated  the  story  with  all  its  exaggerations.  The 
facts  are  that  the  bishop's  privacy  was  invaded,  and 
that  his  little  gold  cross  was  lost.  Very  probably  it 
was  stolen.  His  watch  was  left  untouched.  The  only 
person  injured  was  the  servant  who  sprained  his  own 
ankle.  I  have  no  wish  to  excuse  the  Marseilles  fellows, 
who  invaded  my  house,  also,  in  the  night-time  most 
unpleasantly.  It  is  not  agreeable,  as  I  know  by  expe- 
rience, to  be  at  the  mercy  of  a  band  of  armed  men  who 
recognize  no  law  but  their  own  good  pleasure';  and  I 
sympathize  with  the  bishop,  because  I  have  experienced 
the  same  annoyance  as  he  did  ;  but  the  plain  truth  is  these 
Marseilles  men  were  simply  impudent  and  troublesome, 
no  more.  The  clerical  press  used  the  incident  with  its 
habitual  skill,  and  continued  to  spread  the  odium  of  it 
on  the  whole  Garibaldian  army.  The  bishop  made 
ecclesiastical  capital  out  of  it,  assumed  the  attitude  of 
a  sort  of  demi-martyr,  and  told  the  faithful,  in  his  pas- 
toral charge,  that  the  presence  of  Garibaldi  in  their 
midst  was  enough  to  draw  down  on  France  the  male- 
dictions of  Heaven. 

It  is  only  fair  to  the  old  companions  of  Garibaldi  to 
observe  in  this  place  that,  although  many  disorders 
occurred  which  were  inevitable  with  a  force  just  newly 
got  together  and  never  subjected  to  any  preparatory 


394  French  Franc-tireurs. 


discipline,  it  was  never,  or  hardly  ever,  the  real  Italian 
Garibaldians  who  were  guilty  of  these  disorders,  but 
men  like  those  in  that  legion  from  Marseilles,  who,  in- 
deed, formed  part  of  the  Army  of  the  Vosges,  but  were 
not  Garibaldi's  comrades  ;  they  had  simply  been  put 
under  his  orders  by  Gambetta  ;  and  the  Italian  general 
was  peculiarly  unfortunate  in  this  respect,  that,  since  he 
was  considered  a  good  captain  of  guerillas,  all  sorts  of 
freeshooters  were  sent  to  him  as  soon  as  they  presented 
themselves.  Now,  of  all  soldiers  whom  I  ever  beheld 
or  talked  with,  those  Yrenclifranc-tireiirs  were  the  most 
absolutely  undisciplined ;  indeed,  it  was  a  point  of 
honour  with  them  not  to  recognize  any  superior  autho- 
rity at  all.  Their  theory,  which  they  themselves  have 
explained  to  me  over  and  over  again,  was  that  an  officer 
was  only  one  of  themselves,  and  that  they  were  there 
to  harass  the  enemy  in  the  way  they  liked  best.  They 
had  not,  indeed,  the  most  remote  conception  of  the  na- 
ture and  utility  of  discipline,  or  even  of  any  unity  of 
action.  Garibaldi's  enemies  were  careful  to  lay  the 
irregularities  of  all  these  franc-tireurs  at  his  door,  by 
calling  them  Garibaldians,  as  if  they  had  come  with  him 
from  Caprera ;  whereas  the  truth  was  that  they  were 
Frenchmen,  not  forming  part  of  the  "  Garibaldian  inva- 
sion of  France,"  and  that  they  would  have  served  the 
French  cause  under  some  other  general  if  Garibaldi  had 
never  presented  himself. 

Not  only  was  the  clerical  sentiment  strongly  excited 
against  Garibaldi,  but  even  in  minds  which  had  not 
much  of  the  odium  theolcgicum  there  existed  a  very 
strong  national  antipathy.  There  is  nothing  that  a 
nation  hates,  said  one  who  has  known  many  nations, 


National  Antipathy  to  Garibaldi.  395 

like  another  nation.  It  was  felt  by  many  Frenchmen 
as  a  slight  on  their  national  pride  that  an  Italian  should 
presume  to  offer  them  any  assistance  in  the  hour  of 
their  distress  ;  and  as  no  French  general  would  serve 
under  Garibaldi,  so  in  the  public  opinion  of  civilians 
there  was  a  feeling  that  he  was  a  presumptuous  intruder, 
who  felt  that,  because  he  had  beaten  a  few  miserable 
Neapolitans  in  a  little  enterprise  that  had  become 
famous  for  the  mere  romance  of  it,  he  could  conquer  the 
great  armies  of  Germany,  before  which  so  many  French 
generals  had  been  compelled  to  retreat  in  disaster.  Yet 
at  the  same  time  (such  is  the  inconsistency  of  ill-will) 
that  Garibaldi  was  despised  for  his  nationality,  his  fol- 
lowers who  were  Frenchmen  incurred  a  share  of  this 
national  antipathy,  and  the  Army  of  the  Vosges,  though 
most  of  the  soldiers  in  it  were  born  and  nurtured  on  the 
soil  of  France,  was  looked  upon  as  a  foreign  army,  de- 
vouring the  substance  of  the  country.* 

*  Even  if  considered  simply  with  regard  to  the  maintenance  of 
friendly  relations  with  France,  the  non-intervention  of  England  in 
her  behalf  was  most  judicious.  I  am  fully  persuaded  that  if 
England  had  sent  a  corps  d'armte  to  help  the  French,  and  if  this 
assistance,  at  some  critical  hour,  had  turned  the  tide  of  war  in 
their  favour,  they  would  have  disliked  the  English  after  that  assist- 
ance more  heartily  than  they  dislike  them  now  for  their  neutrality. 
There  never  was  much  French  animosity  against  England  during 
the  war.  because  the  French  are  persuaded  that  England  has  "  no 
army "  and  cannot  fight  on  land  ;  they  look  upon  her  as  a  sort 
of  big  fish  confined  to  salt-water.  It  was  the  Germans  who 
detested  England  during  the  war.  The  German  press  spoke  of 
England  with  contempt  mingled  with  aversion,  whilst  the  English 
press  was  praising  Germany  as  the  model  of  all  that  was  mosl 
admirable  and  most  moral. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Garibaldi's  Army— Bitterly  Cold  Weather— The  Men  Sleep  in  the 
Churches — The  Cry  of  "  Desecration  " — Garibaldi's  Personal 
Habits — Bordone — Other  Officers — Costumes — Confectionery 
— Ignorance  of  the  Men — What  Garibaldianism  really  is — 
Peculiar  Character  of  this  Enthusiasm — Annoyances  from 
Franc-Tireurs — Arrival  of  the  Enemy — A  Bombardment — The 
Author  watches  the  Combat — Incidents — The  Author  buries 
his  Strong-box  in  a  Wood — Preparations  for  Flight — The 
Germans  Retreat — The  Armistice — Peace — Character  of  the 
War  on  both  Sides. 

WE  had  three  classes  of  troops  in  our  city,  the  Mobiles, 
the  Mobilises,  and  the  Garibaldians.  When  Garibaldi 
arrived  the  Mobiles  had  left,  but  2,oooof  the  Mobilises 
remained.  These  occupied  much  of  the  room  that  was 
to  be  had,  and  Garibaldi's  army  could  not  sleep  out  in 
the  streets,  for  the  temperature  was  several  degrees 
below  freezing-point.  Under  these  circumstances,  the 
town-hall  and  the  court-house  were  lent  by  the  civil 
authorities  to  serve  as  barracks,  and  a  considerable 
number  of  men  lodged  with  the  inhabitants.  Suddenly, 
however,  it  became  necessary  to  find  shelter  for  an  in 
flux  of  four  thousand  more.  A  good  many  had  already 
been  so  left  out,  and  had  found  it  hard  to  have  to  pass 
the  night  in  that  manner  with  the  thermometer  below 
zero.  Under  these  circumstances,  the  civil  authorities 
agreed  with  Garibaldi  that  rather  than  let  the  men 
perish  in  the  open  streets,  they  would  let  them  sleep 


Men  Sleep  in  the  Churcfies.  397 


in  the  churches.  There  was  nothing  new  in  this ;  it 
has  always  been  done  by  armies  in  time  of  war,  and 
was  actually  done  during  the  Franco-German  war  both 
by  French  and  German  troops.  There  was  a  great 
outcry  about  this  "desecration,"  however,  in  the  especial 
case  of  the  Garibaldians,  due  to  the  open  hostility  be- 
tween their  leader  and  the  clerical  party. 

The  choice  lay  between  the  churches  and  the  public 
square,  between  a  tolerable  shelter  and  the  intolerable 
cold  without.  There  was,  indeed,  a  way  of  escaping 
from  the  dilemma  of  inhumanity  or  desecration.  It 
the  rich  inhabitants  of  the  town  had  been  disposed  to 
make  a  sacrifice  in  the  cause  of  religion  they  might 
have  saved  the  houses  of  God  from  defilement  by  re- 
ceiving more  men  into  their  own.  It  is  true  that  they 
did  already  lodge  a  few  Garibaldians  who  were  billeted 
upon  them,  but  these  few  were  as  nothing  in  comparison 
with  the  numbers  they  might  have  accommodated  had 
they  been  willing  to  sacrifice  their  own  personal  com- 
fort, and  to  incur  the  loss  occasioned  by  inevitable 
damage  to  their  tastefully  decorated  rooms.  Every 
one  who  is  in  the  least  acquainted  with  military  matters 
knows  how  easy  it  is  to  lodge  a  hundred  men,  as  soldiers 
are  lodged  in  tents,  requiring  nothing  but  floor-space, 
and  plenty  of  straw  to  lie  upon.  In  an  old  French 
town  the  poor  are  narrowly  lodged,  so  are  the  com- 
mercial  people  who  live  over  the  shops,  but  the  aris- 
tocracy have  spacious  old  houses,  hidden  away  in 
gardens,  with  very  fine  big  rooms  in  them.  Had  Gari- 
baldi taken  possession  of  these,  he  need  not  have 
occupied  the  churches. 


398  Behaviour  of  Men  in  the  Churches. 

The  next  question  is,  how  did  the  men  behave  in 
these  places  of  worship  ?  The  answer  is,  that  they 
behaved  as  soldiers  always  do  in  war-time  under  similar 
circumstances.  They  made  themselves  at  home,  they 
sang,  they  smoked,  they  lit  fires  where  they  ought 
not  to  have  lighted  them,  they  burned  benches  and 
chairs,  and  anything  else  that  would  help  to  make  a 
fire.  As  to  the  uses  to  which  piscinae  and  confes- 
sionals were  applied,  it  is  easier  to  conceive  them, 
than  to  find  terms  by  which  they  may  be  described 
with  decency.  All  this,  no  doubt,  grated  dread- 
fully on  the  feelings  of  good  Roman  Catholics,  and  I 
do  not  defend  it  ;  I  only  say  that  it  is  nothing  but  the 
ordinary  conduct  of  soldiers  on  a  campaign.  When  the 
church  is  their  only  home,  they  make  themselves  at 
home  there  in  their  own  rude  way,  certainly  without 
any  respect  for  the  sacredness  of  the  place,  but  also 
without  any  especial  eagerness  to  profane  it.  And  not- 
withstanding whatever  comfort  might  be  derived  from 
bonfires  and  pipes  of  tobacco,  the  clerical  party  may 
always  console  itself  with  the  reflection  that  many  a 
young  Garibaldian  met  his  death  from  sleeping  in 
damp  and  insufficient  clothing  on  the  pavement  of  those 
churches.  Every  week  there  was  a  list  of  deaths  in  the 
local  papers  which  were  not  due  to  wounds,  but  to  bad 
lodging,  to  damp  and  cold,  to  irregular  and  ill-prepared 
food,  in  short,  to  the  hardships  of  warfare  in  the 
depth  of  one  of  the  bitterest  winters  ever  known  in  a 
country  where  winters  are  almost  always  severe.* 

*  It  is  unnecessary  to  add  that  the  public  services  of  religion 
were  suspended  during  the  military  occupation  of  the  edifices,  and 


Garibaldis  Personal  Habits,  399 

I  saw  a  good  deal  of  the  Garibaldian  army  about 
this  time.  The  officers,  like  all  the  officers  in  the 
Franco-German  war,  spent  all  their  spare  time  in  caf£s, 
which  were  always  full  of  them,  except  when  they  messed 
in  the  different  hotels.  Garibaldi's  habits  of  solitude 
and  his  wretched  health,  deprived  the  army  of  what 
might  have  been  a  beneficial  influence,  since  he  never 
messed  with  the  officers,  even  of  the  staff,  but  ate  his 
basin  of  soup  alone,  and  drank  his  glass  of  water  just 
as  if  he  had  been  still  in  his  solitude  at  Caprera.  No- 
thing can  be  more  strange  ;  nothing,  surely,  more  un- 
precedented, than  such  a  powerful  influence  as  his. 
exercised  with  so  little  personal  intercourse.  Tht 
officers  never  ate  with  Garibaldi,  never  passed  an  even- 
ing with  him,  he  was  very  rarely  visible  to  the  soldiers, 
and  then  only  in  the  character  of  an  invalid  taking 
"  carriage  exercise."  He  went  to  bed  regularly  between 
five  and  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  for  days  toge- 
ther was  only  visible  to  his  valet  or  Bordone.  Whilst 
the  Deliverer  of  the  Two  Sicilies  lay  on  his  sick  bed  in 
a  chamber  on  the  ground-floor,  Bordone,  acting  always 

this  is  felt  as  a  hardship  in  a  Catholic  country,  perhaps  even  more 
than  it  would  be  in  a  Protestant  one,  because  the  churches  are 
used  every  day  and  at  every  hour  of  the  day.  At  last  the  public 
schools  were  given  up  to  the  military,  which  rendered  the  churches 
no  longer  necessary,  and  the  clergy  complained,  perhaps  with 
reason,  that  although  the  troops  might  have  evacuated  the  churches 
entirely  at  this  time  they  did  not  evacuate  them,  but  left  a  few  men 
in  possession.  The  clergy  said  that  the  purpose  of  this  continued 
occupation  was  to  prevent  the  re-establishment  of  public  worship, 
but  it  is  only  fair  to  Garibaldi  and  the  sub-prefect  to  suggest  that 
it  may  have  been  done  in  view  of  the  arrival  of  fresh  troops,  fof 
the  army  was  constantly  increasing. 


4OO  The  Italian  Officers. 

in  his  name,  was  the  active  and  visible  high-priest  of  the 
mysterious,  invisible  hero-divinity.  It  was  he,  Bordone, 
and  not  Garibaldi,  who  had  the  control  of  the  army  and 
who  held  the  strings  of  the  purse.  Events  which  hap- 
pened a  little  later  proved,  for  evil  as  well  as  good,  the 
force  of  his  relentless  will.  He  had  the  talents  and 
faculties  of  a  despot,  the  firm  resolve,  the  calm  of  nerve 
which  could  permit  him  to  live  perfectly  at  ease  in 
situations  of  anxiety  and  peril,  and  in  addition  to  these 
gifts  he  had  that  other  terrible  one  which  has  belonged 
to  every  master — the  readiness  to  inflict  the  punishment 
of  death. 

Never  was  little  army  so  numerously  officered  as  this 
Army  of  the  Vosges.  All  of  Garibaldi's  old  friends 
who  were  with  him  had  military  titles  of  some  kind, 
and  the  number  of  colonels,  especially,  was  surprising. 
The  Italians  had  a  strong  taste  for  brilliant  and  pictu- 
resque uniforms,  and  as  these  were  all  new,  the  effect, 
just  at  first,  was  rather  that  of  a  levee  or  review  than 
the  dinginess  of  actual  warfare.  Many  fine-looking 
young  Italians  wore  Garibaldi's  uniform,  and  they  had  a 
way  of  draping  themselves  majestically  in  their  scarlet 
cloaks,  by  throwing  them  across  the  breast  and  mouth, 
and  over  the  shoulder,  which,  when  accompanied,  as  it 
generally  was,  by  a  look  of  sufficient  sternness  and  a 
resolutely  martial  bearing,  had  the  happiest  theatrical 
effect  imaginable.  There  were  one  or  two  troops  of 
light  cavalry  called  "  Guides  "  employed  incessantly  as 
scouts,  and  these  fellows  had  a  costume  so  very  pictu- 
resque and  becoming  that  it  was  only  too  becoming, 
and  reminded  one  inevitably  of  the  hippodrome.  They 


Costumes — Confectionery.  401 

wore  the  red  shirt,  often  traversed  by  chains  and 
trinkets,  with  a  short  scarlet  cloak,  light  bluish-grey 
trousers,  and  high  equestrian  boots.  They  wore,  too,  a 
coquettish-looking  biretta  (a.  peculiar  sort  of  cap)  with 
a  high  feather  in  it,  and  they  soon  learned  the  art,  or 
had  it  instinctively  in  their  Italian  blood,  of  setting  this 
cap  and  feather  on  their  heads  in  the  jauntiest  possible 
manner,  with  the  evident  intention  of  causing  every 
pretty  Frenchwoman  to  fall  in  love  with  them  forthwith 
It  may  be  remarked,  in  passing,  that  these  martial 
Italians  never  could  address  a  person  of  the  "  beautiful 
sex  "  without  either  a  conquering  or  an  imploring  air. 
and  the  ladies  professed  to  be  angry  with  them  for  these 
too  amorous  Southern  manners. 

But  the  most  remarkable  peculiarity  of  the  Italian 
officers  was  their  inveterate  habit  of  eating  sweet  little 
cakes  at  the  confectioners'.  Never  since  the  time  of 
the  ancient  Romans  had  that  business  been  so  profitable 
as  it  was  in  those  busy  Garibaldian  days.  There  were 
two  good  shops  of  the  kind  in  the  town — at  one  of 
them  a  pretty  woman,  at  the  other  a  handsome  one. 
What  brave  Italian  could  resist  the  combined  attraction 
of  sugary  cakes  and  female  loveliness  ?  From  early 
morning  till  dinner-time  did  these  appreciators  of 
sweetness  and  light  (sweetness  of  tarts  and  light  of 
ladies'  eyes)  throng  the  shops  where  happiness  was  to 
be  bought  with  silver,  and  how  after  all  those  luscious 
cakes,  and  those  glasses  of  cloying  Malaga  wine,  they 
could  go  and  consume  a  substantial  dinner  at  the  hotel 
I  know  not.  Yet  so,  indeed,  they  did  ! 

The  privates  in  Garibaldi  s  army  were  remarkable  for 

D  D 


4O2  Ignorance  of  the  Garibaldians. 


their  combination  of  blind  faith  with  inconceivable 
ignorance.  I  did  not  expect  them  to  know  much,  but  I 
expected  them  to  know  something  about  Italy,  and  at 
least  the  principal  facts  in  the  history  of  Garibaldi  him- 
self. They  were  sufficiently  interested  in  Garibaldi  to 
risk  their  lives  in  following  him,  yet  not  sufficiently 
interested  to  make  them  ascertain  what  had  been  the 
deeds  of  their  hero  in  other  and  greater  adventures. 
The  rule  appeared  to  be  this.  If  a  Garibaldian,  a  man 
of  the  people,  a  man  not  belonging  to  the  educated 
classes,  had  actually  taken  part  in  one  of  Garibaldi's 
former  expeditions,  he  would  know  that  there  had  been 
such  an  expedition  ;  but  if  he  had  not  taken  part  in  it, 
then  he  would  know  nothing  whatever  about  it.  I 
remember  trying  vainly  to  persuade  a  very  bright- 
looking  young  sergeant,  a  lad  who  could  write  Italian 
almost  correctly,  and  read  it  easily,  that  Garibaldi  had 
defended  Rome  against  the  French  in  1849.  He  main- 
tained that  Garibaldi  had  never  been  in  Rome — "he 
had  been  in  Naples,  but  not  in  Rome."  The  only 
chapter  of  his  leader's  history  of  which  this  youth  knew 
anything  was  the  famous  Sicilian  expedition,  and  of 
that  he  knew  only  what  he  had  seen.  He  was  a  native 
of  Palermo,  and  had  joined  the  expedition  soon  after  it 
landed.  Nor  was  this  a  solitary  instance.  All  the 
Garibaldians  I  talked  with,  except  educated  officers, 
were  equally  in  the  dark.  It  was  impossible  to  talk 
with  them  about  contemporary  events,  for  they  were  in 
a  condition  not  only  without  information,  but  curiously 
repellent  of  information.  It  was  not  of  the  least  use  to 
tell  them  anything,  for  they  would  not  believe  you. 


Nature  of  Garibaldianism.  403 


Firmly,  yet  politely,  they  would  shake  their  heads  and 
say  that  you  had  been  misinformed,  after  which  they 
would  give  you  a  true  account  of  the  matter,  that  is  to 
say,  the  belief  which  was  current  amongst  them.  These 
beliefs  took  possession  of  the  whole  army  in  a  manner 
that  it  was  utterly  impossible  to  foresee ;  but  one  thing 
was  inevitable,  either  the  belief  was  absolutely  and 
inconceivably  absurd,  or  else  it  took  up  some  bit  of 
very  old  news  indeed,  and  circulated  it  suddenly,  as  an 
alarming  telegram  is  circulated  in  London  or  New 
York. 

Garibaldianism  has  very  little  to  do  with  knowledge. 
It  is  not  even  the  devotion  to  a  cause.  The  genuine 
Garibaldians,  officers  or  men,  know  little  and  care  little 
about  causes.  What  they  feel  is  an  entire,  unreasoning, 
wholly  uncritical  faith  in  the  absolute  excellence  and 
wisdom  of  one  human  being,  their  famous  leader,  whom 
they  do  not  call  "  our  captain,"  nor  "  our  general,"  but 
"  our  father." 

Garibaldianism  is  really  a  neiv  religion. 

The  first  time  that  this  became  plain  to  me  was 
between  two  and  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  at  the 
outpost  nearest  the  enemy,  when  I  was  smoking  and 
talking  with  one  or  two  old  officers  of  Garibaldi  by  a 
blazing  fire  in  a  cottage.  Others  were  sleeping  on  the 
straw  which  covered  the  rude  floor. 

"  We  have  no  discipline  whatever,"  said  the  captain, 
"  but  our  affection  for  our  father  Garibaldi,  it  is  that 
which  binds  us  together.  It  was  not  for  the  French 
Republic  that  we  came  here,  but  our  father  came,  and 
to  we  followed  him.  Look  at  those  men  on  that  straw  ? 

D  D  2 


404  Influence  of  Garibaldi. 

Where  will  they  be  in  a  week  ?  In  the  grave,  perhaps, 
or  in  the  hospital.  There  will  be  hard  fighting  soon, 
and  it  is  a  hard  season.  Some  of  those  fellows  are 
well-to-do,  others  have  not  a  halfpenny ;  the  richer  ones 
share  with  their  poor  brethren,  but  whatever  may  be  the 
differences  of  social  station  or  military  rank,  all  the 
Garibaldians  feel  themselves  equal  in  the  presence  of 
their  father,  and  all  are  equally  cared  for  and  beloved 
by  him." 

I  was  just  thinking  that  Garibaldianism  was  a  sort  of 
religious  faith,  when  the  speaker  resumed,  after  a  pause, 
and  rather  startled  me,  with  the  following  expressions, 
which  I  remember  accurately  enough  to  write  them 
down  word  for  word.  "  Yes,"  he  continued,  "  there  has 
been  no  such  influence  exercised  over  the  wills  of  men 
since  Jesus  of  Nazareth  was  followed  by  his  disciples. 
There  have  been  other  great  military  leaders,  but  they 
were  worldly  men,  and  their  followers  were  actuated  by 
worldly  motives.  But  our  poor  dear  father,  Garibaldi, 
pray  what  has  he  to  offer  ?  The  liberty  to  follow  him — 
the  delight  of  knowing  that  we  are  near  him,  and  shall 
see  his  face  occasionally,  and  hear  the  tones  of  his  voice 
calling  us  his  children — the  pride  of  being  his  own,  his 
chosen,  who  have  shared  in  all  his  perils  and  have  never 
deserted  him  to  the  last- — these  are  the  only  rewards  that 
the  beloved  father  offers,  or  that  the  devoted  children 
care  for."* 

*  This  looks  improbable  in  English  because  Englishmen  are  so 
careful  to  avoid  the  expression  of  anything  resembling  noble  senti- 
ments in  conversation  that  such  sentiments  are  very  unusual  in 
English  dialogue,  but  my  conversations  with  the  Garibaldians  were 


Annoyances  from  Free- Shooters.  405 

It  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  heard  the  genuine 
enthusiasm  of  Garibaldianism,  but  I  heard  exactly  the 
same  things  afterwards  from  others,  and  found  that  it 
was  the  true  tone  or  note  of  the  faith.  Unbelievers  will 
naturally  think  that  the  note  is  pitched  very  high,  but 
careful  subsequent  observation,  for  which  I  had  ample 
opportunities,  convinced  me  that  the  faithful  had  really 
tuned  their  souls  up  to  that  diapason.  They  had  even 
reached  the  point  when  a  faith  is  self-sustaining.  Even 
the  oldest  officers  hardly  ever  saw  Garibaldi  when  he  was 
in  our  neighbourhood,  and  they  certainly  never  spoke  to 
him.  He  lived  in  solitude,  a  sad-faced  invalid,  an  austere 
water-drinker,  as  abstemious  in  eating  as  an  anchorite. 
Is  it  not  strange  that  this  idealist,  with  his  passion  for 
retirement,  should  be  the  idol  of  strong  men  who,  in  all 
other  respects,  seemed  exactly  like  other  military  officers  ? 

About  thjs  time  we  were  often  greatly  annoyed  by 
straggling  bodies  of  free-shooters,  who  would  demand 
admittance  at  all  hours  of  the  night  "in  the  name  of 
the  law,"  which  they  neither  knew  nor  obeyed.  They 
never  did  any  harm  in  the  house  except  by  causing  an 
increased  expenditure  in  common  wine  and  firewood  ; 
but  it  was  disagreeable  to  be  called  out  of  bed  to  ad- 
minister to  their  comforts.  It  is  unpleasant  to  know 
that  you  are  entirely  in  the  power  of  an  armed  man, 
and  what  can  a  civilian  do  against  a  'dozen  fellows 
armed  with  chassepots  and  revolvers  ?  One  night  I 
happened  to  be  away  during  one  of  these  visitations, 

always  either  in  Italian  or  French — languages  which  not  only  do 
not  check  the  expression  of  noble  sentiments,  but  positively 
favour  it 


406  Arrival  of  the  Germans. 

and  the  franc-tireurs  had  conducted  themselves  so  very 
authoritatively  (though  not  badly  in  any  other  sense), 
that  I  stayed  at  home  afterwards  to  bear  the  brunt  of 
it.  A  very  odd  detail  of  their  conduct  that  evening  was 
that  they  ordered  my  wife  to  show  them  all  my  pictures. 
So  she  went  from  one  to  another  with  a  candle,  whilst 
these  strange  connoisseurs  made  their  critical  remarks. 
They  themselves,  with  their  interesting  costumes  and 
arms,  would  have  made  a  more  interesting  picture  than 
any  which  they  did  me  the  honour  to  examine. 

After  that  I  adopted  a  system  which  answered  per- 
fectly. The  house  was  open  to  free-shooters  all  night 
through,  but  one  of  the  company,  the  highest  in  rank, 
was  requested  to  enter  his  name  and  regiment  in  a  book. 
They  did  this  quite  willingly,  and  I  believe  the  names 
written  were  genuine,  for  they  behaved  very  reasonably 
after  this.  When  you  consider  that  it  was  impossible 
to  oppose  their  demands  for  drink,  it  seems  rather  to 
their  credit  that  they  were  satisfied  with  the  most 
moderate  quantities.  We  had  very  exceptional  luck  in 
one  thing — not  a  single  soldier  was  ever  billeted  on  us 
during  the  whole  Garibaldian  occupation  ;  and  this  is 
the  more  remarkable  that  the  next  farm  was  occupied 
as  a  post,  whilst  the  nearest  gentleman's  house  in  the 
other  direction  was  for  some  time  selected  as  the  resi- 
dence of  some  Garibaldian  officers,  to  the  despair  of  the 
excellent  housekeeper,  whose  cup  of  bitterness  was  full 
when  she  saw  them  walking  with  nailed  and  miry  boots 
on  her  carefully  waxed  oaken  floors. 

We  were  all  expecting  the  enemy,  yet  he  surprised 
us,  as  a  host  is  surprised  when  the  guest  comes  before 


A  Bombardment.  407 


the  time  fixed.  How  perfectly  I  remember  all  the  little 
details  of  that  day !  It  was  impossible  to  write  or 
paint — impossible  to  read  even,  for  one  could  not  help 
going  to  look  out  from  the  upper  windows  in  the  direc- 
tion where  the  Germans  were  marching.  Peasants  who 
passed  along  the  road  told  us  that  the  enemy  was 
advancing  fast,  and  would  be  upon  us  before  evening. 
One  of  our  neighbours  had  gone  to  the  town  in  the 
morning  and  left  his  daughter  alone.  The  young  lady 
had  come  to  us,  and  we  had  invited  her  to  d^jc  finer. 
Whilst  we  were  at  table  her  father  returned,  and  passed 
on  to  his  own  house,  saying  that  it  was  still  doubtful 
if  the  enemy  would  come  that  day.  We  had  just 
finished  our  ctijefiner,  when  I  went  to  pay  a  visit  to  the 
stable  to  see  that  everything  was  ready,  in  case  we  had 
to  abandon  the  house  and  retreat  to  the  hills.  After 
examining  every  strap  and  buckle  of  the  harness,  and 
giving  Cocotte  an  extra  feed  of  corn,  I  walked  slowly 
back  to  the  house  and  looked  towards  Garibaldi's  out- 
posts. There  was  nothing  to  attract  attention,  but  I 
continued  to  look,  and  lo !  a  large  puff  of  white  smoke, 
and  then  a  little  cloud  up  in  the  air  like  a  balloon. 
"  There  goes  a  shell ! "  I  thought,  and  the  little  cloud 
descended  upon  the  city,  and  after  several  seconds  a 
dull  boom  came  sounding  across  the  fields.  I  waited  to 
see  if  the  Garibaldians  would  answer,  and  very  soon 
a  little  white  cloud  rose  out  of  the  town  itself  and  took 
its  flight  towards  the  spot  from  which  the  first  had  pro- 
ceeded. After  that,  rose  several  other  white  clouds  of 
the  same  kind,  and  the  dull  booming  became  incessant. 
The  first  shot  that  one  sees  fired  in  actual  warfare 


408  A  Bombardment. 


produces  quite  a  new  impression.  However  familiar 
one  may  have  been  with  reviews  and  royal  salutes,  the 
cannon  seems  to  have  quite  a  different  voice  in  war 
time,  as  I  suppose  that  the  lion's  roar  must  be  more 
terrible  in  Africa  than  it  is  in  the  Zoological  Gardens. 
It  is  not  the  noise  that  awes  us,  it  is  the  meaning  of  the 
noise. 

A  strong  wind  was  blowing  that  day,  and  the  sound 
of  the  guns  did  not  reach  us  in  its  full  strength,  so  the 
ladies  in  the  dining-room  had  not  heard  it.  When  I  joined 
them  again  they  were  still  in  quiet  conversation,  wonder- 
ing whether  the  Prussians  would  arrive  in  the  night. 
"  Ladies,"  I  said,  ceremoniously,  "  if  you  would  like  to 
see  a  bombardment  I  shall  be  happy  to  show  you  one 
from  the  garret  window,  where  you  will  see  General 
Werder's  army,  which  has  just  arrived,  and  is  already 
displaying  great  activity."  If  the  reader  has  ever  sud- 
denly announced  to  the  ladies  of  his  household  that 
a  bombardment  was  to  be  seen  from  his  garret,  he  will 
know  the  effect  of  such  an  announcement ;  if  not,  he 
may  perhaps  imagine  it.  Not  much  time  was  lost  in 
getting  to  the  top  of  the  house,  and  as  I  had  a  good 
telescope  I  put  the  end  of  it  through  a  broken  pane 
and  surveyed  the  action  in  detail.  Everybody  tells  me 
that  I  saw  more  of  the  combat  than  any  other  spec- 
tator, for  those  in  the  town  were  prevented  from  seeing 
anything  by  the  houses  and  trees,  whilst  the  soldiers 
who  were  actually  engaged  had  no  general  view  of  the 
operations.  It  is  probable  that  no  rustic  at  a  safe 
distance  had  a  telescope.  Mine  enabled  me  to  observe 
not  only  bodies  of  troops  but  even  men  individually, 


Incidents  of  the  Day,  409 


There  was  a  steady  line  of  darkly-clothed  Germans 
on  the  slope  of  a  rising  ground,  and  before  them  was 
their  artillery.  The  sunshine  was  so  clear  and  bright, 
and  the  guns  so  clean  that  I  could  see  them  glittering. 
They  were  served  with  perfect  regularity,  and  for  some 
time  continued  to  pour  shells  into  the  town.  The  Gari- 
baldians,on  their  part,  occupied  a  more  elevated  position, 
and  shelled  the  Germans  with  great  energy.  I  heartily 
admired  the  perfect  steadiness  of  the  Germans  under 
fire  ;  they  were  as  orderly  as  soldiers  at  a  review,  and 
yet  they  were  unpleasantly  exposed,  being  in  the  open 
field,  whereas  the  Garibaldians  fired  upon  them  from 
the  houses  in  the  faubourg. 

It  is  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  the  fair  sex  not  to  be 
able  to  see  anything  with  a  telescope,  so,  after  some 
ineffectual  attempts,  the  ladies  begged  me  to  do  all  the 
looking,  and  I  was  placed  in  the  position  of  Rebecca  in 
"Ivanhoe,"  when  she  described  the  siege  of  the  castle  to 
the  sick  knight  who  could  not  look  upon  it  with  his  own 
eyes.  After  a  while,  the  Germans  found  their  situation 
rather  too  much  exposed,  and  a  mounted  officer,  whom 
I  believed  to  be  a  Colonel,  took  his.  regiment  behind 
the  Paris  road,  which,  for  a  short  distance,  runs  on  an 
embankment,  and  therefore  may  afford  some  shelter. 
His  men  were  now  protected  from  the  rifles  in  the 
houses,  but  full  in  view  for  me,  and  I  became  especially 
interested  in  the  Colonel  himself,  because  he  would  keep 
riding  about  on  his  handsome  black  charger,  climbing 
the  embankment  repeatedly  and  exposing  himself  alone 
on  the  road  to  see  how  matters  were  going  forward, 
without  thinking  of  the  peril,  which  was  great  indeed, 


4 IO  Death  of  a  German  Officer. 

for  he  was  a  capital  mark  for  the  riflemen  as  he  sat  on 
his  tall  horse  alone  in  the  middle  of  the  highway. 
"  There's  a  brave  fellow,"  I  said,  "  and  a  careful  officer ; 
he  has  put  his  own  men-  out  of  harm's  way  for  the  pre- 
sent, but  does  not  care  to  consult  his  own  safety.  I  wish 
him  well  through  it  all,  enemy  though  he  be."  Just  as 
I  spoke  he  rode  out  upon  the  highway  once  again,  rode 
out  to  meet  his  fate,  for  he  fell  from  the  saddle  a  dead 
man.  The  charger  turned  round  at  once  and  trotted 
back  towards  the  regiment.  I  saw  a  soldier  go  out  to 
meet  the  horse  and  take  him  by  the  bridle.  The  man 
led  the  horse  very  quietly,  but  neither  he  nor  the  animal 
was  wounded. 

Now  and  then  in  the  ranks  of  the  Germans  there  was 
a  little  temporary  disturbance  when  a  soldier  was  killed 
or  wounded,  but  it  did  not  affect  the  rigidity  of  the  line, 
which  was  drawn  upon  the  field  like  a  regiment  in  a 
stiff  military  picture,  and  the  artillerymen  went  on 
serving  the  guns  as  mechanically  as  if  they  had  been 
automatons.  Being  now  satisfied  that  the  Germans 
were  not  advancing  their  positions,  but  showed  a 
tendency  to  withdraw  from  those  at  first  occupied,  I 
left  my  post  of  observation  and  busied  myself  about 
our  own  affairs. 

We  had  determined  to  remain  at  home  in  case  of 
simple  occupation,  but  to  leave  if  our  house  seemed 
likely  to  be  included  in  a  battle-field.  There  was  still 
great  risk  of  this ;  the  Germans  actually  tried  to  get 
their  artillery  over  the  river  which  flowed  behind  my 
house,  and  could  not  manage  it  Had  they  known  the 
country  roads  and  the  fords  they  would  certainly  have 


The  Author  Buries  his  Strong-Box.  411 

come  straight  to  the  house,  whilst  it  is  likely  that  some 
troops  on  the  French  side  would  have  met  them  there. 
In  that  case  our  intention  was  to  drive  off  to  a  little 
village  high  amongst  the  hills,  not  likely,  from  its 
situation,  to  be  permanently  occupied  by  the  enemy, 
though  he  might  visit  it  to  make  occasional  requisi- 
tions. I  had  a  roomy  sort  of  four-wheeled  dog-cart, 
with  a  very  capacious  coffer  stuffed  to  the  utmost  with 
what  we  were  most  anxious  to  carry  away.  A  more  diffi- 
cult task  was  to  get  a  certain  strong  iron  box  away  into 
the  depths  of  a  neighbouring  wood  without  being  ob- 
served by  the  franc-tireurs,  or  by  rustics  on  the  look- 
out First  I  smuggled  a  spade  into  the  wood,  then  a 
pickaxe,  lastly  the  box,  then  dug  the  hole  myself,  and 
buried  my  treasure,  within  range  of  the  artillery,  but 
not  precisely  under  fire,  as  it  was  not  shelling  the  wood 
where  I  dug  the  hole.  I  made  no  mark  in  the  wood, 
but  only  this  memorandum  in  my  pocket-book :  — 
"  First  great  oak,  after  that  first  birch  due  north,  then 
eleven  yards  due  west  of  latter."  By  the  help  of 
this  memorandum  I  recovered  my  box  quite  easily 
after  the  peace ;  but  many  country  people,  from  trust- 
ing to  their  memories,  and  not  knowing  the  art  of 
making  an  accurate  memorandum,  have  never  been 
able  to  find  what  they  had  hidden.  About  a  hundred 
franc-tireurs  passed  within  a  few  yards  of  me  when  my 
task  was  just  completed.  A  constant  stream  of  civil- 
ians was  pouring  along  the  high  road  in  all  manner  of 
conveyances,  going  they  knew  not  whither.  All  these 
people  had  been  under  fire  for  the  space  of  half  a  mile 
(which  they  passed  at  full  gallop),  but  nobody  was 


412  Escape  of  a  Franc-tireur. 

wounded.  A  woman,  whom  I  knew,  came  in  a  little 
donkey-carriage,  and  when  I  asked  if  she  had  any  news  to 
tell,  she  wrung  my  hand  and  burst  into  tears.  This  was 
merely  the  effect  of  excitement,  for  she  had  lost  nobody 
she  knew,  and  had  no  reason  to  be  particularly  anxious 
about  anybody  near  or  dear  to  her.  The  men,  on  the 
other  hand,  seemed  to  take  a  pride  in  talking  like 
military  critics,  and  as  if  they  were  quite  accustomed 
to  combats  and  sieges. 

The  firing  ceased  at  dusk,  and  the  enemy  had  not 
yet  taken  the  place,  but  kept  his  position  in  the  suourb. 
Then  came  a  brilliant,  frosty  moonlight,  and  I  set  off 
to  get  news  of  some  scouts  whom  we  had  posted  to 
bring  us  information  of  any  movement  of  the  enemy  in 
our  direction.  I  met  with  a  solitary  franc-tireur,  who 
was  dreadfully  afraid  of  being  caught  and  executed  by 
the  Germans.  I  told  him  he  had  better  come  home 
with  me,  which  he  did  with  some  reluctance,  as  he  said 
that  if  we  were  both  caught  I  should  be  shot  too.  He 
had  eaten  nothing  all  day,  so  I  made  him  dine  with  us, 
and  whilst  we  were  at  dinner,  there  came  a  thundering 
noise  at  the  front  door.  It  was  one  of  our  scouts,  who 
said  that  the  Germans  were  on  us,  so  the  franc-tireur 
hid  himself,  and  I  went  out  to  look.  The  alarm 
turned  out  to  be  false,  and  as  it  was  a  very  fine  evening 
I  drove  him  to  the  next  military  outpost,  where  he 
might  pass  the  night  by  the  fire  in  the  guard-room. 

A  very  odd  incident  happened  as  I  was  returning 
home.  A  man  seized  my  hand  and  implored  my  inter- 
cession with  the  enemy,  that  his  house  and  its  inhabi- 
tants might  be  spared.  There  was  a  general  impression 


Cannonade  by  Moonlight.  413 

that,   as   I   was   a    foreigner,   and  the    Germans  were 
foreigners  also,  we  should  understand  each  other  per- 
fectly. 
Everybody  remembers  the  line  in  "  Hohenlinden," — 

"  Far  flashed  the  red  artillery !  * 

It  occurred  to  my  memory  that  evening  when  the  Ger- 
mans resumed  firing  under  the  moonlight,  and  we  could 
see  the  red  flashes  leaping  from  the  cannons'  mouths, 
silent  like  the  red  blaze  in  a  battle  picture,  till  the 
thunder  came  upon  us  tardily. 

Very  probably  the  reader  will  imagine  that  we  sat  up 
anxiously  all  night,  but  the  plain  truth  is  that  we  went 
to  bed  soon,  and  slept  as  well  as  possible  till  the  next 
morning.  The  excitement  of  the  day  had  produced 
that  weariness,  so  common  in  war-time,  which  enables 
people  to  sleep  in  perfect  tranquillity,  notwithstanding 
the  noise  of  cannon. 

The  next  morning  we  got  up  early.  The  firing  had 
ceased.  Men  who  had  been  with  the  Germans  all  nighl 
(for  the  enemy  had  occupied  their  houses)  came  to  tell 
us  that  they  were  in  full  retreat. 

The  next  time  they  advanced  upon  us,  the  armistice 
stopped  them  a  few  miles  from  our  house.  Then  the 
peace  came,  and  we  were  delivered. 

Imagine  some  tremendous  conflagration  in  the  pri 
maeval  forest,  covering  thousands  of  square  leagues  ;  it 
rages  and  spreads  till  at  length  it  reaches  its  limit,  and 
just  outside  the  limit  there  is  a  little  bird's-nest,  with 
the  young  in  it,  and  the  conflagration  ceases,  and  the 
nest  is  not  even  singed.  That  nest  was  like  our  house. 


414  The  Franco-German   War. 

Imagine  some  fearful  inundation,  which  devastates  a 
hundred  towns  and  more  than  a  thousand  farms.  It 
rises  and  spreads  till  it  goes  far  inland,  and  comes  near 
to  a  little  flower.  It  uproots  great  trees,  and  makes 
many  a  field  like  a  desert,  but  that  little  plant  is  an 
inch  outside  of  its  course,  and  the  waters  subside,  and  it 
is  just  as  it  was  before.  Our  garden  was  like  that  plant. 

It  would  be  easy  to  thrill  the  reader  with  an  account 
of  bloodshed  and  wounds,  but  a  qttoi  bon  ?  He  has  had 
enough  of  such  reading  in  1870  and  1871.  Did  he 
ever  see  such  a  thing  as  a  cartload  of  wounded  ?  I 
have,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  see  it  again.  Did  he  ever 
hear  the  moans  of  men  and  horses  in  their  anguish  ? 
I  have,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  them  again. 

One  would  hear  and  see  these  things  with  greater 
equanimity  in  a  just  and  necessary  war,  but  that  huge 
sanguinary  conflict  of  1870-71  was  unnecessary  in  its 
beginning  by  the  French  and  its  continuation  by  the 
Germans.  The  French  Government  might  have  main- 
tained peace  after  the  renunciation  of  Prince  Hohen- 
zollern,  and  the  Germans  might  as  easily  have  restored 
it  after  Sedan.  The  war  was  begun  by  French  ambi- 
tion and  continued  by  Prussian  ambition,  with  supreme 
indifference,  in  both  cases,  to  the  interests  of  humanity. 
It  was,  therefore,  from  beginning  to  end,  a  thoroughly 
discouraging  spectacle  from  the  moral  point  of  view. 
The  conduct  of  Napoleon  was  not  even  national,  it  was 
selfish,  for,  by  his  own  admission,  it  sacrificed  strategic 
to  political  considerations.  The  conduct  of  the  Prus- 
sians was  national,  but  without  a  trace  of  generosity  or 
nobleness.  That  terrible  year  can  have  left  but  one 


The  Franco-German    War.  415 

desire  in  all  just  and  thoughtful  minds — the  wish  for  a 
stronger  international  law  by  which  the  ambition  of 
rulers  may  be  kept  within  reasonable  limits.  This  may 
be  too  much  to  hope  for  in  our  day,  but  let  us  work 
for  it  already,  each  with  his  own  small  influence  and 
strength.  The  time  may  yet  come  to  Europe  when  the 
career  of  a  conqueror  will  be  as  impossible  within  its 
limits  as  that  of  a  Sicilian  brigand  is  already  in  the  Isle 
of  Wight 


FINIS. 


,-,  i  "•*'.*.  '»*••', 
\*,V-  :••:'•••• 


A     000  678  540 


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